


Dead Things and Washing Machines

by TheAuthorGod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Branding, Canon Compliant, Homelessness, Human Trafficking, Hunt Fic, M/M, NSFB, Non-Sexual Slavery, Recreational Drug Use, This sounds so much worse than it actually is...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:46:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorGod/pseuds/TheAuthorGod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is sick and, despite Dean’s strict no-research-rule, finds a case.  It’s like these cases sneak up on them when they least expect it.  Dean says the hunt can wait; but, Sam doesn’t think that’s the wisest decision so he calls Cas to work the hunt with Dean.</p><p>Dean and Cas drive out only to find that the motels are all full; so, they end up in a one-bedroom/one-bath condo, sharing a bed and reveling in the stylish, fully-furnished, khaki-pants lifestyle.</p><p>Hunts don’t pause or slow down; they’re fast-paced and brutal.  Dean and Cas’ relationship takes equal turns at both.</p><p>[If you need clarification on any of the tags before you read, please send me an ask on my tumblr (<a href="cockleddean.tumblr.com/ask">my ask</a>).]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sick Things

**Author's Note:**

> First DCBB, hope it's good enough. :]
> 
> Not edited from Chap 6 on... I ran out of time. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Dean wasn’t as calm as he looked. His head was running through every possible reason that Sam could be sick. He thought about the fact that they didn’t get flu shots that year, let alone any other year… Except possibly when Sam went off to college and when Dean got them behind his father’s back. Mostly, he did it when he was little to make sure that Sam got his; but, did it a few times on his own. When he read an article about one of the newer vaccines, he cringed and hadn’t gotten one since.  
  
Germaphobes had a problem with sicknesses; but, they could also have a problem with vaccines. Dean was one of those kinds of germaphobes. Why would he get the virus shot into him with a long ass needle just to avoid the same virus? He knew it was irrational; but, that didn’t change anything.  
  
Dean stirred the soup on the stove. At first, he thought about making tomato-rice soup; but, he couldn’t bring himself to make his mother’s recipe. Instead, he was making cream of mushroom. It was the only thing he knew to do when Sam was sick; he made soup and fed him medicine and sat in the chair in his room and got a little obsessive. Winchesters had a way of being obsessive. He poured the soup into a bowl and took it in to Sam.  
  
Knocking first, because Dean had manners – it wasn’t like he was raised in a barn; he was raised in a nice ass car – he used his shoulder to push in. “Hey, feeling any better?”  
  
Sam was curled under blankets in the center of the bed. His nose was runny and his hair was slicked down with sweat. It was like he was a toddler again in Dean’s eyes. His nose, stuffed, affected his speech, “I’mb fine, Dean.”  
  
Placing the soup on the side table, Dean reached forward to touch the back of his hand to Sam’s forehead. He pushed aside some of the nest of newspapers, making room to sit on the edge of the bed. “You don’t look fine.”  
  
Leaning away, Sam swatted Dean’s hands away with blanketed fists. His swats were uncalculated and lazy. He rocked away and almost fell back onto the bed. It was a testament to how sick he really felt.  
  
Dean grabbed Sam’s blanketed wrists and assisted him into a sitting position again. Sam looked grateful, his eyebrows arched upward, but, he said nothing about it.  
  
“So, what’s all this?” Dean gestured to the newspapers strewn around Sam’s nest. He picked up one to read the headline. “A Woman’s Washings: Woman found murdered in rinse cycle. Sounds gruesome.” Dean replaced the paper. “Do you really think you’re up for a hunt?”  
  
Sam’s eyes looked tired; they lost their shimmer for a long moment. “dNo, but, just because I’mb sick doesn’t mean that monsters take a day off.” He shrugged and pulled the blankets tighter around himself.  
  
Reaching over, Dean lifted the soup from the tray and tested the temperature of the bottom of the bowl before setting it on Sam’s blanketed lap. “Here.”  
  
Redirecting his focus to the soup, Sam gave a small smile and licked his lips before using a balled-up, comforter-covered hand to spoon soup to his mouth. He let out a sigh when it hit his tongue. “Deanb, you make the best soup.”  
  
Dean was just happy that Sam was eating again. The day before, he hadn’t had any appetite. His happiness, however, did not mask his embarrassment. He felt his chest grow hot with a blush at the compliment. He had long learned how to keep the blush from appearing on his face; a skill that proved useful when lying, hunting, or picking up dates. “Just, eat up and feel better. I’ll call someone to get the case.” Standing to leave, Dean was stopped by an uncovered hand, darting out from under the covers to grab onto Dean’s shirt.  
  
“You can’t just send endyone; I think it’s something nasty. I mean, this woman,” Sam nodded his head toward the article that Dean had read the headline of, “was cut and shredded into tiny pieces before she was put into the washing machine. dNot just endything can-do that.”  
  
Grimacing, Dean tried not to think about hacking up a body, how messy it could be, how many times he’d hacked at bodies in hell, in real life. He shook his head to dislodge the thought. “Do we know anything that does that? I mean, I can’t think of anything that makes humans into woodchips other than a ghost possessed wood-chipper.” Dean tried to turn but Sam’s hand was still wrapped in his shirt. It reminded him of when Sam was little and used to tell Dean to check one more time to make sure there were no monsters or clowns or monster-clown hybrids under the bed. He eased off Sam’s fingers and turned to look at his brother, making sure to add hand sanitizer to his to-do list.  
  
“dNothing I can think of.” Sam used his now free hand to slide the papers around. “That’s why I think we should go after it.” He turned his puffy eyes toward Dean.  
  
Shaking his head, Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re not doing anything. You’re going to stay in this room and get better.” Dean pointed at Sam for emphasis. “Now, no more homework, young man, you’re not going to school tomorrow.”  
  
Dean was halfway to the door when his brother spoke again. “The murders are getting closer togedder. It used to be once every few years, possibly each decade, but dnow it looks like it’s every month.” Dean didn’t have to look at Sam to know that he was making the puppy-dog eyes.  
  
Growling, Dean moved to the door. “Then you’ve got a month to get better.”  
  
\---  
  
Despite the order to not do homework, Sam still found information on the case. He had been watching television, flipping through the channels, actually, because he had gotten bored of the Spanish Soap and 4 different channels were showing Doctor Sexy M.D. marathons. One of the morning talk shows was showing a murder from New York. It was a young man hacked into tiny pieces and then stored in a fridge in a preppy part of the neighborhood – ‘gated-communities and maids’ kind of people.  
  
Dean hoped it wasn’t a cannibalistic monster; he hated those – really hated those. “Dude, why can’t you be a normal sick person? Watch Doctor Sexy M.D. Watch HGTV. Drool over the racecar channel.” Dean glared at his brother. He really didn’t want to deal with this case, not when he’d be leaving Sam alone at the bunker sick.  
  
With a floomp, Cas arrived. Sam jumped a little; but, Dean had learned to control the fright. Cas did it enough that Dean could almost shoot straight the second after Cas popped up. It was weird. Sometimes, Dean felt that he should be more uneasy with the fact that Cas could ‘floomp’ in and not bother him; he was a hunter after all. He should be more afraid of something that could just appear out of nowhere.  
  
But… it was Cas.  
  
It was some sort of trust that Dean had for Cas. It was different than the trust he had in Sam or other hunters or even Charlie, when she was around. It was deeper, more personal… more profound, maybe? He’d never say that out loud. It just wasn’t something he thought he could say; it would get stuck in his throat and he’d choke on it.  
  
Dean spun on his heel. “You gonna stay here with Sam while I take this case?”  
  
Cas had his head tilted watching the television. Everything on tv was so foreign to Dean that he couldn’t even fathom how foreign it could be to Cas. It was full of people living without a clue or care of the supernatural world. Except this one show, Teen Wolf, that Dean was way too old to be watching; but, seemed to find himself updated weekly on the lives of a certain teenage werewolf, his pack, and his wicked-clever and hyperactive friend. It was actually kinda funny and surprisingly accurate. He figured that it had to be written by someone who knew about the supernatural world. Maybe another Chuck was writing about someone else’s lives. That would be nice for a change.  
  
“Actually, Sam called me to accompany you on your hunt.” Cas squinted more at the television.  
  
“What?!?” Dean whirled around to point a look of incredulity at Sam. “Out of the two of us, I am not the one that has to be babysat. You’re sick.” Dean used his hand to gesture to Sam’s sweaty nest of blankets and cough syrup.  
  
Sam bitch-faced back. “Out of the two of us, I’mb not the one going after something that hacks people up.”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean made a huff. “I’ll be fine. Nothing is going to turn me into human tartar.” Dean was about to go on but Cas’ hand on his arm stopped him, like it was always able to.  
  
Cas didn’t look at him, he continued to stare at the television. “I believe it is easy enough for me to fly back and check on Sam if the need were to arise.” He turned his face toward Dean, then finally flicked his eyes in the same direction. “Now, pack what you will need in the car. We should move soon. The murders are getting closer together. We may have two weeks; we may have less.”  
  
Struck in place by the piercing blue eyes, Dean swallowed wetly. His tongue felt heavy.  
  
“Now.” Cas spoke.  
  
With that, Dean turned and walked from the room. He grumbled when he did and tried to control the blush that was rising from his chest up his neck. The room must have been hot or something.  
  
\---  
  
Seeing as the chop suey thing – Cas said that the term was insensitive but so what – was a new thing, Dean packed a little bit of everything. He packed up the salt-packed fire arms, refilled the vile of holy oil, got more peat, loaded the silver and iron, and literally reinvented their potions kit. He even had to remove the extra ‘Sam stuff’ to make room. Sam’s FBI suit, other costume pieces, and IDs were stowed in the Men of Letters’ library in the far filing cabinet.  
  
Dean still wasn’t sure if it was enough. He looked over it all. “What if we need Boabab stakes covered in the blood of a baby koala or like some sort of berry that can only be found in Madagascar?”  
  
Fiddling with a machete, Cas replied, “Do you even have those to pack?” He moved on to the next piece of metal to twitch into perfect parallel with the rest.  
  
“Yes. Some assembly required.” Dean ran a hand over his face, wiping imaginary sweat from the meniscus between his nose and upper lip. “Well, we have koala blood and baobab tree limbs.” He flicked the machete out of parallel just to tease Cas.  
  
Immediately, Cas put it back into place. He moved onto others. “I can think of nothing that would require that combination of resources. Why would the Men of Letters have koala blood?”  
  
Dean shrugged and tapped the machete out of place again. He watched Cas glare at the misplaced machete before fixing it again. “The Men of Letters have lots of stuff.”  
  
“Including reports.”  
  
Spinning around, Dean glared at his brother. “You should be in bed.”  
  
Rubbing at his nose with the comforter he still had wrapped around him, Sam sniffled. “I had to bmake sure you knew you had to write the reports. I usually do; but, since I won’t be there, you’ll have to do it.”  
  
Dean brought a finger to his nose. “Not it.” He turned to Cas who had just finished making all of the gleaming weapons parallel to one another in the car.  
  
“Deanb.” Sam groaned. “Just be an adult about it and write the report.” He turned and stalked back into the bunker; his dramatic exit was dampened by the flutter of his comforter cape.  
  
“Fine. But I won’t like it.” Dean got in before the bunker’s metal door slammed shut.  
  
Castiel sniffed slightly. “Are all siblings like this or are you two the only ones?”  
  
Shrugging, Dean grimaced. “I think all siblings are assholes to each other. I mean, look at your brothers.” He smacked Cas’ shoulder once with a smirk on his face before it fell away and he returned his scrutiny to the trunk. “Are you sure we shouldn’t-”  
  
Striding away in a huff, Castiel turned away from Dean and cut him off. “If we need anything else, I can fly.” When he reached the back quarter panel of the Impala, he reached over without looking and tapped the machete out of place, then he continued to the passenger side door and got in.  
  
Dean placed his hands on Baby’s back hatch and looked over the entire arsenal one last time. His eyes lingered on the machete. He reached down and twisted it slightly back into place, replaced his hand on the hatch, and pulled down. He opened his door, the driver’s door, and put a foot into the footwell. Before he sunk into the car, he turned to stare at the bunker door.  
  
“He’ll be fine. He’s a grown man, Dean.” Cas’ voice had taken on a softer edge, like the ever present gravel in his throat had grown a healthy layer of moss.  
  
Tucking himself into the driver’s seat, Dean slid the key into the ignition and tapped his hands on the wheel. “That’s the other thing about siblings, Cas. They are always worried.”  
  
Cas shifted in his seat and ran his eyes over Dean’s profile. “I also worry unnecessarily about you and your brother. I will take care of him in your stead if I need to; I know you don’t like to fly.” Cas turned back to the road. “Now, about this report; what does he mean exactly?”  
  
Pumping the gas twice, Dean turned the key until the engine flipped over. Dean watched intently on the road and dash so that he wouldn’t over think what Cas had said. Pulling away from the bunker, he did a quick check over his mirrors and tugged his seatbelt across his lap. “We have to write down what happens.” He shrugged.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Cas huffed. “I know what a report is Dean. What exactly does he want to know in this report?” He sat with his hands tucked in his lap.  
  
“Oh.” Dean nodded at the road and tamped down on the blush rising up his neck. “Uh, usually it includes the victim’s descriptions, how they died, any peculiar marks or symptoms that they had in common whether it’s cause of death or not, what the monster is, what monsters we first thought it was, what resources we use, where they are, how many there are, how long it takes… detail on anything peculiar that happens to us in case it comes up again or has long lasting effects; that kind of stuff.”  
  
Cas had nodded along the entire time. “That is quite extensive.”  
  
“Yeah, leave it to Sammy to give himself homework.”


	2. Shiny Things

Cas sat in the passenger seat with a manila folder open on his lap. Inside were all the newspaper clippings about the case. The newest piece of the puzzle laid on top, the corners of the newsprint curling slightly. It read, “Spin Cycle: Cyclist Found In Laundromat Dead”. Cas had to admit it was a pretty good title.  
  
It was pushing dinnertime. Dean returned from what must have been the third motel that they had stopped at. He stepped into the car and huffed at the steering wheel. “You know, I’ve been doing this my whole life and I have never found this many full motels in one place before.”  
  
Closing the folder, Cas tucked it into the footwell. “You haven’t done this your whole life. You started when you were four. That would make it your whole life minus four years.”  
  
Dean mocked Cas a little by mimicking his lips and rolling his head around on his neck. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, close enough.” He pulled Baby into gear and backed out of the parking space.  
  
“Then where are we going now? Did they also point you to another possible motel?” Cas looked out at the neon sign and grimaced at the lie that was the lit up ‘VACANCY’ portion. Suddenly, like it knew he was scrutinizing it, the ‘NO’ flickered back to life. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the road.  
  
Dean gripped the steering wheel. “They tried to; but, their suggestions were just the ones we’ve already ruled out.”  
  
Sighing, Cas nodded. “Do you have a plan then?” He stared at the sun where it was beginning its descent. Dean had once told Cas that it was bad to stare at the sun; but, later Dean would begin to call it Cas’ built-in sunglasses. I wasn’t nearly as bright as Heaven or the intensity of a fall to Earth.  
  
“Not yet, Cas.” He pressed the gas pedal in annoyance.  
  
A large wooden sign passed on the car’s right. It proclaimed move in ready condos. A smaller one followed with the slogan “Sign on the dotted line, Sleep here that night”.  
  
Cas turned, about to mention it to Dean; but, Dean was already changing lanes and putting his right-hand turn signal on. Cas turned back to the trees and signage in time to see a final wooden sign, “Next Left”.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean muttered glancing in this blind spot before darting over three lanes to the short turn off. He made the turn and entered a housing and condo development. There were some unfinished buildings toward the back of the site; but, the ones at the front had flags and signs proclaiming “Fully Furnished, Move-in Ready”.  
  
Another small sign directed them to the leasing office. Dean parked Baby in one of the visitor spaces and cut off the engine. He slapped his hands to his thighs. “So, what’s the story?”  
  
Cas nodded. “We have been relocated here for work and all the motels are full. We need a place to sleep tonight and we might as well find something classier and more-long term than a motel.” He reached into the back seat for the plastic grocery bag of fake IDs. They had retrieved them at the first motel; but, they hadn’t needed them yet.  
  
Nodding, Dean took the bag from Cas and rifled through the IDs. He pulled out two for himself, an insurance card with the matching name, and a credit card with a company name on it. He flashed the company card at Cas. “Our company is paying for our housing; we’re pretty darn important.”  
  
Fishing through the bag, Cas pulled out an ID for himself. They only had two IDs with his picture; the name was rubbed off and Cas could use his grace to change the indentations to match any name he wanted. “I’m Steve.”  
  
“You can’t use Steve; you’ve already used Steve.” Dean grimaced at him.  
  
Cas shrugged. “Exactly, I know how to act around that name.”  
  
“But, you can’t use the same name so quickly, Cas. You have to change it up, so people don’t begin to recognize you.” He replaced the bag of IDs in the back seat, rolled up around itself and tucked underneath. “I’ve been doing this my entire life,” he rolled his eyes, “minus four years, trust me; I know what I’m talking about.”  
  
“But, I’ve been ‘Castiel’ in every vessel I’ve ever taken on and that has never been a problem.” Cas said this with a nip in his voice that was meant to be a gentle reminder that even though Dean had been hunting his whole life – minus four years – Cas had been around a lot longer. Although, he had to admit that this time around he was ‘Cas’ and he happened to like that.  
  
Dean opened his door and stepped out. “Lots of people share names; not as many people share faces. You gotta own it.” He closed the door and leaned down to the window. “Just change it.” He turned and marched to the glass-paned door of the leasing office.  
  
Balancing the ID on the dash, Cas used his grace like a button press and stamped the plastic leaving the new name without any pressure so that the new name would be revealed. He glared at it then smirked. Placing it in his pocket, he followed Dean’s example, exiting the car silently, wondering what name Dean had chosen.  
  
\---  
  
The lady was really short, like four foot, five inches short. Castiel thought he was going to have a kink in his neck before it was all said and done. She spoke about the available rooms. One was an actual house so that was a no. She then explained that a gas leak had forced them to evacuate one building so many of the extra rooms were occupied.  
  
Dean’s rigid posture turned cold for a moment. Cas figured that he was worried that this site would also have the – here it would only be metaphorical - “NO VACANCY” lit up.  
  
Clearing his throat, Cas filled the awkward silence trilling under the woman’s typing. “If there was a gas leak, are the other rooms safe?” For an angel, they definitely were; but, Cas had not been lying when he had said that he was almost always concerned for the Winchesters’ safety.  
  
“Oh, yes.” Her mousy hair bobbed with her sudden movement to look up at them. She pushed her bright red glasses up her nose. “The gas leak was in one of the construction sites; it was not mandatory to move those in the adjacent building; but, we did.”  
  
Cas nodded and glanced around the room. “That was probably a wise decision.” His eyes landed on Dean. Dean’s posture sagged into the chair, finally relaxing in.  
  
A few more taps of the woman’s fingers on the wretchedly loud keys sounded before she made a hum of approval. Her smile quickly melted away. “We only have one block of rooms available at this time; they’re single bed, single baths. Would you each like one?”  
  
Dean swallowed, a harsh bob of his Adam’s apple being the only hint to his discomfort.  
  
Having put Dean back together from the soul up, Cas knew that being alone was not Dean’s favorite thing. It was something that was ingrained in him for security; but, also a part of his personality. Making a split second decision, Cas reached out and touched Dean’s hand where it rested on his thigh. He turned to Dean, pointedly away from the woman; he was ‘owning it’ as Dean had said. “I’m sure one room will be just fine.”  
  
Swallowing again, Dean’s eyes flicked to Cas. His fingers flexed under Cas’ hand.  
  
“It’s okay. I’m sure the kind lady will understand.” Cas turned back to woman and dared her to get upset. He narrowed his eyes in threat before it became a squint of confusion and his head tipped minutely to the side.  
  
The mousy-haired woman, her name plaque revealed her name to be Taryn – he hadn’t paid attention to that earlier, Dean had led the conversation – had turned bright red. Not in anger, she was flushed and her breathing was off. She wrenched herself back to her computer screen. Her mouth open and closed a bit like the first fish that dragged itself onto land. Her glasses were fogging up.  
  
Dean made a noise to his left, relaxing into a small smirk, throwing up a mask. His fingers twisted under Cas’ until they were threading their way through them. He scooted forward in the chair and leaned over Taryn’s desk.  
  
Speaking to Taryn, Dean seemed to keep the conversation up under the new guise. Cas was having trouble figuring out exactly what was going on in his extremities. The hand that was now knotted in Dean’s was sweaty and hot and now much closer to Dean’s crotch. While Cas fully understood that nothing on Earth could ever match the heat or vibrancy of Heaven, the perch of their hands on Dean’s thigh was definitely peaking on the chart.  
  
“Hey.” Dean squeezed his hand to draw his attention back. “You gonna hand over your ID and sign,” there was a short pause before he added, “baby?”  
  
Cas pulled his hand from Dean’s grip, which was a little tighter than it needed to be. He fished his IDs from his inside pocket and handed it over.  
  
Holding the ID up in the light to read the indents that Cas had put on the card, Taryn’s face had almost returned to a level of peach that was closer to room temperature.  
  
“I’m sorry for the state of my license. I used to keep it in a wallet that wore off all of the paint. As you can see, I no longer put it in a wallet.” He scooted forward and picked up the pen from the desk and signed the line next to Dean’s. It wasn’t really a name, more of a squiggle that started big and ended small.  
  
When he finished, Taryn turned the contract around and printed their names from the IDs onto the form and signed another line below that. She flipped through the contract, checking that Dean had initialed at all of the yellow sticky notes and made a selection at the blue ones. “Well, it looks like everything is in order. Your first three months of your lease have started.” Without looking either of them in the eye, she rolled her chair back and pulled a key from the filing cabinet. She tossed it to Dean. “Your new address is condo 411 in Cape Sent; that’s the one on the corner.”  
  
Dean stood and Cas followed, standing quickly and coming to rest very close to Dean. The proximity seemed to fluster Taryn all over, again; for Cas and Dean, it was normal though. She adjusted her glasses before sticking out her hand to Dean. “Lawrence.”  
  
Taking the hand, Dean smiled and nodded curtly. He patted her hand with his other, squeezing slightly.  
  
She turned, glasses partly fogged and her face doing an imitation of a beet, to Cas and offered the same hand. “Shephen.”  
  
Cas grinned at her. “I prefer Steve.” He ignored the grumble from his left.  
  
\---  
  
Cas inserted the key into the door handle and turned it. When the door didn’t open, he turned it the opposite way; then it opened. “Who decided which way keys should turn?”  
  
Stepping through the door, Dean ignored Cas’ question and dumped his duffle in front of the hall closet. He took a long moment to take in the place. He let out a low whistle. “Cas, look at this kitchen.”  
  
The condo opened up from the entryway and coat closet into the living area - the kitchen, living room, dining room, and breakfast bar in one free-flow floor plan. It was covered in shiny metal and glistening, white surfaces. Dean was almost drooling over the 4-zone controlled fridge. Cas tried to open a cabinet; but, it wouldn’t pull out and there was no knob. He felt around the edge and tucked his fingers into the crevice between door and the cabinet back. He yanked a little, being careful not to use full angel strength. Cas glowered at the cabinet and leaned forward to peek at the underside.  
  
Suddenly, there was a warm presence behind him. He turned around to find Dean’s nose almost touching his own. He leveled his gaze with Dean’s before adding in a deadpan, “Dean, we’ve talked about this, personal space.”  
  
Dean chuckled, which had been Cas’ intent with the joke. He took a step back though. “They’re pressure cabinets.” He scooted further past then turned around and leaned against the counter. “See.” He brought up his hand and with two fingers, almost mocking Cas’ two-finger-healing-touch, pushed on the cabinet door. When he pulled away, the cabinet’s latch released and the door popped open.  
  
Testing it, Cas placed his palms on the two cabinets in front of him and pushed in slightly. When he removed his hands, the doors popped open like first had. Cas pressed the cabinet doors into and out of their pressure latches. It was beyond fascinating what humans could accomplish. He smiled at the thought.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“What?” Castiel turned to see Dean still leaning on the white counter. He was hunched over a piece of paper, reading it presumably.  
  
“It says here that the laundry systems haven’t been fully implemented on the development yet.” He flipped the sheet over and continued to read the notice. His face morphed into the look he usually reserved for impossible coincidence.  
  
Cas stepped forward and tried to tamp down on the urge to press on the next cabinet. “What is it?”  
  
Licking his lips, Dean turned to Cas just in time for Cas to fall to the urge. The cabinet popped open, the noise blending into the background. Dean’s eyes smiled and crinkled with mirth at their edges. The humor was lost quickly though. “Guess where the tenants have been directed to take their laundry?” Dean turned the paper around and pulled it taut between his fists.  
  
“Not the Laundromat that was the scene of our murders?” Cas raised an eyebrow. “Not the one and only Laundromat that we will probably break into in a few hours? Not that one?” He turned and trudged back toward the door. It was beginning to get dark and soon it would be time for them to break into the crime scene. It wasn’t rocket science to figure out their next move. “You coming?”  
  
Dean pushed the cabinet door into the latched position before practically skipping out the door.


	3. Dead Things

Dean picked the lock in record time. Maybe the owners didn’t think that washing machines were worth fancy locks or maybe Dean was just that good. Dean would always go with the latter choice if asked to voice his opinion; but, in actuality he was leaning toward the first in this particular instance.  
  
“Many of the recent victims were found here; but, before that, they were scattered around.” Cas was reading by the light of the yellowing street lamp outside. His hair was illuminated at an awkward angle that reminded Dean of the bad boys in old time movies, all hard lines and stern expressions.  
  
Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat. It was the second one he’s had to breathe around that day. Cas was hitting his buttons more than he usually did. Playing him like he were a fucking harmonica, Cas was just blowing away. Dean needed a different metaphor.  
  
Pushing the door open, Dean muttered at the sign posting the business hours. “What Laundromat isn’t 24/7?”  
  
“Apparently this one and it’s probably closed because of the crime scene.” Cas walked along the aisle of washing machines on the far wall until he reached the yellow caution tape. He tucked the folder under his arm and waved Dean over, peering beyond the caution tape like it were an animal enclosure at a zoo.  
  
The body had been removed but a white tape outline remained on the floor where the body had once been. The outline didn’t look like a body, though, since the victims had been found in piles, the shapes were hardly ever shaped like a recognizable body. The blood had been cleaned away and all that was there was the police flags proclaiming where the victim’s phone, gum, and wallet had been – well, those and the white tape.  
  
Dean ducked under the caution tape and took the folder from Cas’ now outstretched hand. He looked around the crime scene for a moment before turning back to Cas. “My kind of VIP section.” He lifted the tape with the edge of the folder for Cas to duck under after him.  
  
“Each victim drank an entire bottle of bleach. They had what looked to be claw marks on their torsos and thighs.” Cas squatted down next to the white tape outline. “What was left of their torsos and thighs.”  
  
Nodding along, Dean flipped through the folder. He’d read over it briefly; but, he usually left the secretarial work to Sam – so, in this case Cas. He suddenly had a very nice image of Cas as his secretary. He’d be a very happy business man. He shook his head to dislodge that thought. He needed to stay focused on the case and not on his inappropriate and one-sided crush on his best friend. “Anything else?”  
  
Cas squinted at the ground. He patted his outer then inner pockets looking for something. “Do you have a napkin on you?” He didn’t turn completely to Dean to ask his question. The angle highlighted Cas’ profile in muted, gold light.  
  
Without looking away, Dean, almost frantically, wanting to comply, patted his own pockets while holding the folder balanced in one hand. It took some freaky maneuvering and some awkward twisting but none of his pockets had napkins. He growled low and took a quick glance around the joint and came up with nothing. There wasn’t even a public bathroom to get paper towels; it had an “Out of Service” sign and a lock on the door. “Uh-”  
  
“It’s okay; I got it.” Cas reached toward his collar and tugged at the knot in his tie. He pulled it loose then pulled it from under his collar in one – and Dean didn’t use it lightly – fucking hot move. He bundled it up and ran it over the floor. He then brought the tie to his face to sniff it.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “What are you a blood hound?”  
  
Standing quickly, Cas spun to face Dean, his face was still lit in a way that gave it sharp angles and now he had an open collar. Dean swallowed and forced himself to hear what Cas was saying. Trying to wrangle his eyes into looking somewhere other than Cas’ collar bone or lips. “What does this smell like to you?”  
  
Cas tried to stick the tie under Dean’s nose; but, Dean batted it away. “No way, dude, I’m not going to smell some dead guy stuff.”  
  
Shaking his head, Cas did his best impression of a deadpan with only his eyes. “You sniff crime scenes for sulfur.” He shook his head and flicked his eyes in Cas’ version of an annoyed expression. “We should probably get going. We have to go to the library tomorrow and talk to people. Can’t be doing that on no sleep.”  
  
“Speak for yourself; I’ve conducted a full week of hunt on only 8 hours of total sleep.” Dean raised his eyebrows at Cas and ducked back out of the crime scene, walking toward the door with purpose. He paused at the bulletin board, usually used for neighborhood notices. It was covered in crime scene detail.  
  
Cas caught up to him. “That hunt may have only taken a few days if you had slept properly.” He flicked a humor-filled glance to Dean.  
  
Scoffing, Dean’s jaw hung open watching Cas move to the exit. “Oh, this isn’t over.” He plucked his phone from his pocket and took some pictures of the crime scene photos before taking his leave as well.  
  
\---  
  
Dean and Cas were standing in the short hallway in their temporary condo. Dean had stripped off his outer layers in the bathroom and stood in only his under tee and unbuttoned jeans. Cas hadn’t removed any articles of clothing. Dean wasn’t sure if he was happy about that or not.  
  
“So, uh, what side of the bed do you want?” Dean pushed off of the wall and finally stepped into the bedroom. He felt like a misplaced party guest who had found the master suite instead of the bathroom.  
  
The room was styled with a contemporary flair. Everything was white except the natural hardwood floors. Each thing was so white that if felt like they were mocking him– the side tables, the pillows, the chair, even the canvas that hung across from a large mirror – but each white thing had a very different texture. The pillows were a mix of suede and shag and the chair had three tones of white in its floral print – a true white, an off-white, and a metallic white.  
  
Dean sat on the bed carefully trying to drown the feeling that he was doing something wrong.  
  
Not moving from the doorway, Cas glanced around the room. “I do not require sleep. I will attend to other matters.”  
  
A chill shot down Dean’s spine. He was suddenly cold with the thought that Cas was going to leave him in this strange place. He wondered briefly how he was ever able to go on solo hunts. He then wondered if he would feel more at home in a motel and therefore safer at the thought of being alone. After a silent moment, he decided that was probably the case. Dean clenched his hands into the white comforter, racking his brain for an excuse for Cas to stay. “You know that you’re grumpy when you don’t at least rest, right?” Dean almost winced at how smug he sounded; it was a mechanism.  
  
“I do not. Angels do not require rest.” Cas’ eyebrows pulled together.  
  
Dean turned himself toward Cas, bringing one leg onto the sheet next to him. “I dunno. Ever since you started taking those cat naps at the bunker between cases, you’ve been a lot more fun to be around.” He decided to remove his shirt at that point. He was halfway in bed anyway. “You’ve even developed a sense of humor.” Dean raised an eyebrow in jest.  
  
Stepping into the room and shrugging off his trench and suit coat combo, Cas glared at Dean with mirth playing in his eyes. “I’ve always had a sense of humor. It made me different.” He started to untuck his shirt.  
  
Following Cas with his eyes, Dean brought his other leg up onto the bed and sat cross-legged and kept his body facing Cas straight on – Dean laughed in his head, yeah, probably not so straight on. “Oh, you are right about one thing. That sense of humor is definitely different.” Dean pursed his lips at Cas.  
  
Cas unbuttoned and pulled at the sleeves of his oxford. “Are you going to sleep in your jeans?”  
  
Hopping up, Dean shed his jeans. He was having a hard time – haha, funny – hearing Cas’ voice more or less tell him to take his pants off. Dean peeled back the covers and tucked himself into the pocket they created.  
  
The sheets were divine. He wasn’t sure how much their ‘company’ paid for the fully furnished condominium; but, the sheets must have been million thread count or something. Dean figured that it may make up for the fact that he was going to be without his memory foam for a few days.  
  
Dean leaned back on the pillows and barely held onto the moan that was trying to escape his throat. It was somewhere between floating and death and Dean Winchester had experienced both enough to know what he was talking about.  
  
The bed dipped as Cas slid onto the other side. Dean swallowed thickly. He was not sure this was a good idea anymore. He could feel Cas’ body heat. He could smell him. He didn’t want to dwell on the fact that he indeed recognized Cas’ smell, so he moved his mind onto another topic.  
  
“You’re thinking too loudly.” Cas shifted. “Go to sleep.”  
  
Freezing, Dean feared that Cas had heard his exact thoughts. “What do you mean?” He tried to filter the fear out of his voice; it was deposited back into the pit of his stomach, weighing it down.  
  
Cas hummed slightly. “I mean that you’re very loud.”  
  
“I thought we decided that you weren’t supposed to read my mind.”  
  
“We did. I can’t tell what you’re thinking only that you’re thinking, like when one of the channels on the television is really static. You were watching a Nascar race on one in a motel in Wyoming a bit ago.”  
  
Dean thought back to that. He nodded. That was when he had left his toothbrush and threw a hissy fit about it. He’d nearly kicked Sam out of the room to walk to the CVS to buy him another that morning. He’d man-up to that hissy fit only in the privacy of his head and a month after its occurrence.  
  
“I can tell that your brain is on; but, I cannot tell what specifically you are thinking unless I mindfully tap into it.”  
  
Shifting in the bed, Dean turned on his side. He looked over Cas’ naked back and wondered again why he had ever thought that this was a good idea. Where had Cas – or Jimmy – gotten those muscles? Wasn’t Jimmy an accountant? Amelia must have liked it or something. Part of Dean felt guilty at that. He was lusting over some other dude’s body which currently housed his best friend while its original owner and his wife had been killed in the line of fire in his war.  
  
Suddenly, Cas flopped onto his back. “I said quiet thinking not loud, miserable, incessant thinking.” He didn’t sound mad; He sounded exhausted and concerned.  
  
Ignoring the tone and responding to the words at face-value, Dean tucked his head onto his fist. “This is what I mean by you getting snippy if you don’t sleep.”  
  
“Then let me sleep.” Cas managed to sound snippy that time.  
  
Sighing, Dean settled into the pillow and watched Cas’ chest move up and down for a little bit. It was soothing, nice, rhythmic. Dean bit his lip and snuggled into the pillow once more.  
  
“You’ve told me on numerous occasions not to watch people when they sleep.” Blinking rapidly, Dean flicked his gaze up to Cas’ face. His head was turned toward Dean and his eyes were barely open.  
  
A smirk automatically pulled at Dean’s features. “You should know by now that the rules do not apply to me.” He looked back at the sheets and slid his fingers over the plentiful thread count. A thought struck him. “Cas?”  
  
Cas hummed in reply.  
  
“When you say that I’m thinking loudly, is it like when we first met? Or, like, when I crawled out of the grave and you tried to talk to me in that gas station? I remember this horrid sound. I knew something was there; I knew you were trying to communicate with me but I couldn’t understand. Like when someone is miming at you; but they’re really far away. Is that what it’s like?” Dean looked back up at Cas, where his face had gone slack and his lips were parted. “Cas?”  
  
He let out a heavy breath bordering on a snore.  
  
Dean huffed at his friend. “No sleep, my ass.” He turned over and reached for the lamp switch to shut it off. There was no toggle or switch though and Dean was beginning to get frustrated when he touched the metal base of the lap on accident and the thing turned off. Dean tested it two more times, tapping the lamp’s base to turn it on and off. “Gotta get me one of these.”  
  
To his left, Cas let out a particularly loud snore.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean reached for his pants that he’d discarded in a haphazard pile next to the bed. He pulled his phone from the pocket and set the alarm. He also texted Sam that they were going to sleep, everything was good so far, reminding him to keep warm and drink fluids.  
  
Dean got a reply a few seconds later. It was nothing more than an angel emoji and Dean wasn’t sure what to do with it. Was his brother saying that he was being a perfect angel? Was he telling Dean to not worry about him and worry about Cas, the angel, instead? Was he delusional from his sickness? For a split second, Dean weighed the risks of waking Cas up to go check on Sam; but, he looked so damn peaceful.  
  
Thinking then about Cas, Dean mused that he never had these sorts of problems when it came to Cas’ emojis. He let out a low growl and decided against asking Sam to explain. An image of Sam laughing until he was coughing popped into Dean’s head. That was the more logical conclusion.  
  
Flopping backward, He decided that sleep was his best bet at this point.  
  
\---  
  
Dean laid on the bed with his eyes closed, mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen. If he was lucky, he was going to open his eyes and not be sharing a bed with his best friend. If he was lucky, he was not going to have morning wood. If he was lucky, today would be a normal day – well, as normal as a day could be if you were fighting some unknown monster while lying about just about everything.  
  
Sucking in a big breath, Dean opened one of his eyes. The bed was empty, that was good. He had a hard-on, oh well, at least the bed was empty.  
  
He stood and moved to the bathroom to relieve himself. The condo was quiet; but, angels were sneaky bastards and too light on their feet anyway. Through a mouthful of toothpaste, Dean called to Cas.  
  
When there was no response, he spit the foam out of his mouth and called, again. “Cas?”  
  
Still no response sounded. Dean darted through the condominium. Cas’ trench was missing and there weren’t many places to hide in the small space; but, Dean looked in the closet and on the fire escape to be sure.  
  
“Cas?!?”


	4. Closed Things

Giving a tight nod to the cold-shouldering woman who had been his elevator companion, Castiel picked around the keys to the Impala in his pocket so that he could retrieve the key to the condo and stepped further down the hallway. He had come in a different door than they had the night before, so Cas was scanning all the numbers on his way to find theirs.  
  
The building was numbered funny. If one came up the central elevator, there was a sign that indicated that all even numbered rooms were to the left and all odd numbered rooms were to the right, two separate halls, one counting odds and the other counting evens. Cas didn’t understand the logic of it.  
  
He was at 415 when he heard the yell, “Cas?!?”  
  
Dean sounded frightened, perhaps the monster of the week had found him.  
  
Cas hurried. Pulling the keys from his pocket, he almost ran into the door in his rush. He pushed the key into the keyhole and twisted it. He twisted it the wrong way at first, again.  
  
When the door opened, it revealed a very flustered Dean wearing only his boxers, wide eyes darting rapidly.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Dean looked embarrassed. His eyes continued to dart everywhere but at Cas; and, red steadily rose up his neck and into his cheeks. “I uh, I was…” He rolled his shoulders back, replacing his defensive posture with something more aloof. “Where did you go, exactly?”  
  
Cas’ hackles flattened. Dean had been concerned about him. Dean had been worried. Dean had not read the note he left on the fridge. “I left a note on the fridge. I figured that you would attempt to look for food.” He glanced over to piece of paper magnetted to the sleek, metallic surface. “I was wrong.”  
  
Following his gaze, Dean stared at the note before trudging over to it. He read it aloud. “Going to get food.” He grimaced at the note then turned back to Cas. “Okay, then, where is my food?”  
  
Sighing, Cas fiddled with the key in his hand. “I found a grocer only to find that they are not yet open. When I found the second one, they were also closed.”  
  
“Really?” Dean smacked the paper back onto the fridge. “What time is it?” He turned around in the room looking for a clock.  
  
After watching Dean chase his tail for a moment, finding it humorous, Cas pointed to the stove which had the time in its digital display.  
  
Dean glared at it. “It’s only five thirty in the morning; no wonder they’re closed.” He rubbed at his eyes. From the other room, an alarm sounded. Dean rushed to see and Cas hastened to follow. It was only Dean’s phone; its daily alarm ringing that Dean should wake up. “Well, I’m going to put on some pants then we can go, okie?” He pushed his lips together and raised his eyebrows, waiting for Cas’ assent.  
  
Smirking slightly, Cas nodded. “But, you should probably put on more than just pants.” He turned his body to leave the bedroom, but his eyes lingered on Dean’s flushed chest. “Some of the ladies here have wandering eyes.”  
  
Many of the women had looked him up and down when he had left and returned to the condo; all except that one lady from the elevator. Cas knew that if they found him at all pleasing that Dean would get attention, too. Dean was, after all, the better looking of the two of them. Cas found himself appreciating it, admiring it, before turning around.  
  
Leaving Dean with a gaping expression and a blush that reached his ears, Cas decided that he’d pass the time by playing with the pressure cabinets again or possibly the kitchen’s touch sink. Humans really were amazing inventors.  
  
\---  
  
With Dean behind the wheel, they went looking for food. Dean’s stomach had made its opinion of its state of emptiness quite clear about four times in the past twenty minutes. Each time, Dean would grumble low in the back of his throat and posit the idea of breaking and entering since “nothing in this god forsaken town is open”.  
  
Cas stared out the window. Most of the time he was looking for a place to stop; but, he’d admit to himself that at some points he was simply staring at the trees wondering if he could get away with driving again even though Dean was awake. He found driving relaxing. There was once a time that driving had scared him; not so much for his own sake – he was an angel and in no physical danger – but for anyone else in the car. If he messed up, the others in the car would not necessarily be okay; it was a lot of responsibility to carry.  
  
“What do you think about pizza?”  
  
Cas was driven from his thoughts when Dean pointed to a pizza place with an open sign lit in its window. “I think that you should choose since you’re the one who will be eating.”  
  
Dean drummed on the steering wheel as he eased onto the brake for the stop light. The blinker was ticking in the background and Dean’s drumming thrummed in unison. “I mean, you can eat too right?”  
  
“Yes.” Cas watched Dean’s fingers dance over the wheel like watching a short opera. There was so much emotion and experience in his hands alone. Having rebuilt them, Cas knew just how much had gone into those hands. It was utterly amazing. “I don’t always enjoy eating, though; food is very different to an angel than to a human.”  
  
Biting first on his lip, Dean responded, “How do you mean?”  
  
Sometimes, when people asked questions like that, they didn’t actually care about the answer; they were simply filling time or silence. The way Dean said it and flicked his curious eyes in Cas’ direction told a completely different story. Cas took in a deep breath, deciding how to explain it. “You know how foods are made of smaller foods?” He scrunched his face in concentration.  
  
Dean thought it over. “Like chemicals and stuff?”  
  
Shaking his head lightly, Cas amended the thought. “More like how a salad is actually lettuce and tomato and cheese and ham or how a burger is actually meat and cheese and bread and pickles.”  
  
Huffing lightly, Dean licked his lips. “Why did I ask about food? It’s making me hungry.” His eyes glazed over for a moment. “I could go for a good cheeseburger right now.”  
  
Cas blinked. “Would you like me to stop? I can. You can prompt me with other conversation, if you’d rather.”  
  
“No, man, it’s interesting plus,” he leaned forward in the driver’s seat to glare out the windshield at the light that was refusing to change from red to green, “the stop lights are definitely coded for country roads.” From his contorted position Dean flashed an encouraging smile in Cas’ direction.  
  
Taking that courage, Cas fixed his stare straight ahead and continued. “So, as a human, I could taste everything together. The burger and the cheese and the pickles and the bread were one taste and that taste was cheeseburger; but, now, it tastes separately like bread then cheese then meat then pickle. One taste stops before the next begins. I’ve put effort into not tasting each molecule separately, but this new way of tasting is still annoying.”  
  
Dean was grimacing. “That kinda sucks.”  
  
Agreeing, Cas shifted backward in his seat, trying his best to melt into the leather.  
  
“I wonder if there is like something you can take for that?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Cas watched the traffic light without really seeing it; it was where his eyes were pointed but not his focus.  
  
The light changed the green and the Impala lurched forward with the force of Dean’s foot on the pedal. “Like, some people can’t eat milk or dairy; but, there are pills that they can take so that they can eat it anyway.” He took a tight turn and drove through the empty parking lot to the twenty-four hour pizza joint. “Some people can’t process the fat in foods; but, there are enzyme supplements that they can take so that they can ingest their foods.” He pulled into the parking space in front of the door and put her in park.  
  
Cas stared at the dashboard in thought. “But, what point would it have?” He wrung his hands, wondering if his hands had just as much craftsmanship put into them as Dean’s hands did.  
  
Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder, commanding his attention with his well-made hands, worn by years of living and working with rough edges. “If it would make you happy, it would be worth it, Cas.”  
  
\---  
  
Dean loved his pizza. During his first and unexpected pornographic moan, Cas had found himself staring at Dean’s neck. It was the only safe place. Thought, it wasn’t as safe as he thought when Dean swallowed his pizza and his neck muscles contracted and stretched in various ways. He flicked his eyes away.  
  
“Do you want to try some?”  
  
  
  
Cas tore his eyes away from the pizza advertisement on the far wall and looked at Dean’s hopeful expression.  
  
“I mean, you could try a bite, yeah?” He shifted his elbows on the table and held the slice of pizza out for Cas to see.  
  
It did look good. Cas remembered eating pizza when he was human. It was a very pleasing food. It had a doughy-consistency because the sauce macerated the crust; but, that only made the entire experience more enjoyable. “I could.” He reached a hand out for Dean’s pizza.  
  
Giving it over, Dean watched with wide and excited eyes for Cas to try it. Dean liked to say that he and Sam didn’t both have a puppy-dog face; but, in that moment, Cas disagreed with that sentiment. Dean was looking at him with unbridled eagerness that electrified the air between them. All of it over pizza; Cas tried not to think of anything else that could potentially electrify them both in sync.  
  
The bite of pizza was nothing like what he remembered. He winced as the flashes of flavor hammered against his sense palette. Tomato. Bread. Salt. Cheese. Salt. Cheese. Tomato. Cas had to admit that the individual parts were rather good; but, it still wasn’t full on taste, like having the perfect hat but parading around in it and boxers. Dean in a cowboy hat and boxers…  
  
“That bad, huh?”  
  
Cas opened his eyes and, though he was still hunched over in his wince, looked up at Dean through his lashes. Cas tried not to show what he’d been thinking about. “Sorry. It’s just, I think that since I am expecting a certain taste the bitter reality is made worse.”  
  
Eyebrows knitting together, Dean took the pizza back and took another bite with less enthusiasm. After swallowing, he spoke, “I wish you could enjoy food.” He put the pizza back on the plate. “I mean, you like burgers and pizza and all that – you know, like me – but, you can’t enjoy it like I can.” Dean brought a hand up to his face and dragged it down.  
  
Needing something to say, Cas racked his brain for a way to relieve his friend of his guilt. “I chose this.” He meant it from the very center of his being. “Now, don’t let this ruin your pizza. You were really enjoying it.” Cas offered a small smile.  
  
A few other people entered the restaurant behind Cas’ bench. They had picked a booth along the front window. They seemed to be just as relieved to have found a place selling food. The heavy-set woman in their group took the lead and approached the counter.  
  
Since Dean had returned to moderately enjoying his pizza, Cas took in the newcomers. It was a middle-aged woman with two teenagers. One of the teenagers fiddled with large gauged piercings and the other twirled her long, colored hair. Cas turned back to Dean. “Have you ever colored your hair?”  
  
Dean froze with his mouth partially open in a lazy chew.  
  
Taking Dean’s silence as an opportunity, Cas continued his line of questioning. “Pierced your ears?” He squinted at Dean’s ears. Cas raised and lowered his eyebrows in a short humor, “Pierced anywhere else?”  
  
The blush that had been creeping up Dean’s neck slowly then suddenly filled in the rest of his face and ears. His eyes looked like they were shinier than usual. Cas briefly worried that he had made Dean angry.  
  
A waitress pipped over to the table at that moment and giggled at Dean’s appearance. She gave Cas’ shoulder a light tap with the back of her hand. “You’ve got to stop embarrassing him.”  
  
Dean’s reaction was one of embarrassment. Cas was honestly intrigued; that must mean that Dean had experimented in some way in earlier years; Cas mused that he may have covered over the holes when he rebuilt Dean, thinking they were unwanted wounds or scars. Returning his attention to the moment at hand, Cas recognized that now was not the time to bring it up. He smiled at the waitress. “I have a way of doing that whether I’m trying or not.”  
  
She tittered through another giggle. Dean rolled his eyes out the window and took in deep breaths. The waitress smiled fondly at the reaction, though, before turning to Cas. “Would you like anything to drink?” She pulled a booklet from her back pocket and flipped her pen around in her fingers.  
  
Not wanting to embarrass Dean any further and hoping to end the interaction before he had the chance to, Cas nodded. “Water for me and he’ll take a dark cola, Dr. Pepper if you have it.” Cas didn’t know why; but, the woman pressed her lips together in a delighted smile.  
  
She wrote that on the paper. “Alrightie, one water and one Dr. Pepper. My name’s Julie. The shop has waitresses between 7am and 10pm.” She winked and turned away.  
  
Once she was out of earshot, Cas immediately breathed out, “Sorry,” in an attempt to make it sound more sincere. He understood much of human custom; but, some things were still strange to him. He rarely felt any embarrassment; so, understanding the cause of or reaction to it was still elusive. Dean didn’t respond though.  
  
Julie returned with their drinks. She also put shakers on the table – one with cheese, one with red pepper flakes, one with a red powder, and one with a green herb. “Sorry guys, you didn’t have any pizza pizzazzers at your table.” She smiled and retreated to the back.  
  
Curious, Cas picked up the one with a green substance and turned it around in his hand. He must have looked confused because Dean swallowed his bite and tapped the first jar’s top.  
  
Flicking his gaze up to Cas, Dean quirked a corner of his mouth in a small, heartfelt smile; his face was almost back to its normal pallor. “Parmesan Cheese.” He tapped the next one. “Red Pepper Flakes.” Tap. “Cayenne Pepper.” Then he pointed to the one in Cas’ hand. “Oregano.”  
  
Cas brought the jar of Oregano up to his nose and sniffed it lightly. He wrinkled his nose at the dryness but otherwise was pleased by the aroma. He replaced it on the table.  
  
“Might as well bloodhound the rest of ‘em.” Dean pushed the other ones forward.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Cas picked up the Cayenne Pepper and pushed the rest back. “I’ve tried Parmesan and Red Pepper Flakes.” He examined the red powder through the glass jar.  
  
Dean nodded and pushed the Parmesan back and forth on the table between open palms. “You like either of ‘em?” He abandoned his game to finish of his pizza; the last few bites were probably cold.  
  
Sniffing the Cayenne Pepper, Cas put the shaker on the table heavily in front of Dean. “That’s what was on the floor at the crime scene.”


	5. High Things

Dean rapped on the door of one of the earlier victims’ houses. If this person wasn’t home, he was going to pull out his gun and shoot something. They’d already exhausted two victims’ homes and no one had answered the door. He knocked louder and with enough force to rattle the hardware. “I swear, Cas, it’s like the entire county is taking a sick day.” They really needed to talk to someone. Dean was cool with breaking and entering; but, they really needed some good truth and lies games to start with.  
  
“I will admit that it seems peculiar.” Cas kept his feet planted in one place and tilted back to glance in the window. When he saw nothing, he flopped his arms at his sides in dejection.  
  
Huffing into the sky, Dean wiped his hands on the thighs of his FBI suit. “Peculiar, really? I’m thinking that it’s fucking suspicious.” He slapped the door twice and pivoted around on a foot; he was tired of this town. He just wanted to take Cas back to the bunker, so they could take care of Sammy.  
  
Cas walked away, stiff as always. He walked down the steps at the front of the condo and stared at a spot across the street. The latest victim had brought them back to the condo development where they were currently staying and the building across the street was one of the many addresses still under construction.  
  
Waving off Cas’ actions and Cas being weird, Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to the victim’s door. Walking up to one of the windows, Dean cupped his eyes to look in. It looked much the same as their condo; all white furniture and contemporary art and décor. It was like Dean was looking into a FLOR catalogue. He figured it must be a bitch to clean, white surfaces everywhere.  
  
“I think there are people in the building across the street.”  
  
Dean whirled around to see Cas squinting at the construction site. “Yeah, man, they’re probably working.” He shrugged. He had been a construction worker a few times; temp agencies had liked to put him there. His longest stretch had been when he had lived with Lisa. “Don’t really notice much; paying attention to the work being done and such.”  
  
Jerkily, Cas turned his head to Dean. “These are not workers. I think they are teenagers.” He cocked his head like he was listening through a doorway; but, Dean knew he was using his angel-powered ears to listen to the construction zone. “They seem to be inebriated.”  
  
That put a chill into Dean’s spine. It was hard to think about Cas around drugs. It was something that still put Dean on edge. He didn’t want Cas to change on him; he really wasn’t a fan of change. “I’ll go check it out. How about you take the Impala and try another person on the list?” Dean knew that adding Baby to the equation would give him a better chance at getting rid of Cas. He held out the keys.  
  
“What if you are attacked in my absence?” Despite his words, Cas’ eyes were fixated on the keys, swingling slightly in Dean’s grip.  
  
Dean jingled the keys. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
Gently, Cas took the keys from Dean and slipped the ring onto his pointer finger. Now that he had what he wanted, his eyes turned concerned toward Dean. “You are positive you don’t want to do each of these tasks together.” His face was neutral, but Dean could tell that something was off in his eye. He marked it off as more concern.  
  
“I got it.” He reached around and took hold of his gun in the waist of his FBI suit pants. Cas eyes followed, almost like he could see through Dean to the gun. “I got my gun.” He released the gun and tapped his knee. “I have my ankle dagger.” He straightened up and tapped his pocket. “Got some salt.” He nodded to himself. “I think I’ll be fine.”  
  
Nodding methodically, Cas seemed to catalogue Dean’s response. “Alright.”  
  
Dean turned to cross the street, but Cas’ hand stopped him, grabbing him at the crook of his elbow.  
  
“Be careful.” Seriousness permeated the air between them. Cas let his hand fall away.  
  
“You too.” Dean nodded and swallowed before turning back to the construction site.  
  
\---  
  
It took him a few tries to find the squatters. He found a gaggle of them in a far room. They had a fancy fire pit with metal scrolling and fancy wicker chaise loungers. They were definitely some rich trespassers.  
  
He rolled his shoulders back and forced some bravado into his chest before approaching. “Hey, there, whatcha doing?”  
  
One girl just lolled her head to look at him; another laughed and slaked the fire with an ornate poker. They were definitely stoners. It reminded Dean of a time long past. He chuckled.  
  
“Hey, FBI, answer me.” He pulled out his badge then his gun and kept the barrel lowered. The threat was still there though.  
  
A few of them jumped and turned to look. They weren’t as stoned as he had first thought. He hoped they weren’t sober enough to realize that there were almost 10 of them and only one of him.  
  
“Look, I don’t really care that you’re here or even what you’re doing here. I’m just looking for some answers about a house across the street,” Dean ticked his head in the direction of the road. “Thata’ way.” He approached. “Are we clear?”  
  
They nodded slowly and at random intervals; it was like not one of them was in sync with another.  
  
“Alright.” He sat on of the of the empty chaise loungers, on the foot rest part, and looked around at them. They couldn’t be that old. “How old are you all?” His eyebrows pulled down while he tried to make guesses.  
  
The girl who had originally laughed spoke first. “I’m 17. We’re all 16 or 17 ‘cept for him.” She pointed, with the fire poker, to the only boy and only one in the group without piercings or dyed hair. “He’s Darcy’s little brother. He’s only fourteen.” She smacked her lips. “Whaddaya want to know?”  
  
Dean put the gun on the chaise next to him and pulled a note pad out of his breast pocket. He didn’t need it for any pragmatic purpose; it was more so that he’d look more official to these teenagers. “Have you noticed anything off about the yellow house across the street?”  
  
The same girl shook her head. “No, everything was good over there. That was Mrs. Wells’ house. She was about as perfect as someone could get.” She played with a rip in her jeans. Other than the septum piercing and the bright red hair; she reminded Dean of Claire – well, also, Dean would kill Claire if she so much as looked at drugs for too long. Those things were nasty; really messed people up if they weren’t from fully reliable sources. If Claire wanted to experiment, he hoped she’d ask him. A chill ran through him at the thought of Claire asking Cas.  
  
“Nella, you live next door. Was anything weird going on?” This girl also seemed to be the leader and that was a very Claire-thing to be.  
  
Nella, the girl across the fire pit with large plugs in either of her ears, licked her lips. “I mean, not that I can think of.” She uncrossed her ankles that were straight out in front of her, before crossing them the other way. “Well, her daughter got in a fight with the cleaning lady last week. But, I mean, I think everyone gets in fights with their cleaning lady every once in a while. It just happens when someone is going through your personal items.”  
  
Nodding, Dean scratched the pen across the paper; in all seriousness, he was doodling Pac-Man. “Cleaning lady?” Dean looked from Nella back to the leader. He figured she was his best bet for an answer. He was wrong.  
  
“Yeah, the entire development has them. There’s one for each of the buildings; some have two. They sweep through all the rooms about every two weeks.” It was the younger one, the only boy; good on him.  
  
Mentally, Dean added that he’d have to find out when the cleaning lady would come through his and Cas’ condo so he could make sure that nothing strange or murdery was out in plain view.  
  
\---  
  
Dean walked back to their condo building, Cape Sent, trying to pull something supernatural out of his ass. Nothing seemed all that out of the ordinary with the latest information. The worst that Mrs. Perfect had done was have a daughter get into a fight with a cleaning lady. Dean huffed.  
  
“Hey, there.”  
  
Dean looked up to see a woman waving from her car. Glancing around, he had to make sure it was him to whom she was waving. He didn’t know anyone. He pointed at himself and let his face show that he was confused.  
  
Nodding comically, the woman pushed her car door closed and walked over to meet him. Her bright yellow heels clicked against the cement. “It’s only you here, silly.” She was flirting with him, so, naturally, he catalogued her appearance. Her hair was unnaturally blond and fluffed up to the point that she seemed to have a swelled head. She pursed her lip-sticked lips. “You’re definitely new around here. How about I get you some coffee and we talk inside?” She trailed an unnaturally long fingernail down his chest. She was too catty for him.  
  
The woman was very… forward. She had long slender legs that emerged from her black pencil skirt before the knee and she had pretty blue eyes, but Dean was not interested, not in her. She would definitely expect a call in the morning. She also had really thin lips that moved weird when she spoke.  
  
“I think I should be getting back.” Dean moved to keep going to Cape Sent. Cas probably was done with his chore by now; the angel didn’t tend to linger.  
  
She side-stepped in front of him though. “My name is Mary Green. You can call me Mary.” She fluttered her eyelashes when she shortened her name.  
  
Definitely a ‘no’ now, Dean didn’t have sex with ‘Mary’s. In fact, it grated on his nerves that this woman, this obnoxiously pushy woman with a too-wide smile, shared his mother’s name.  
  
Someone called in the distance and Dean ignored them, trying to decipher some plan to get away from this Mary. He’d almost decided to pull the dead relative card when he looked up. Mary was looking over his shoulder at something.  
  
“Lawrence.” It was the same call as before and it was definitely a voice that Dean wanted to hear.  
  
Dean turned to see Cas walking toward them with a paper in his hands and his trench coat billowing behind him. Dean’s face melted into a relieved smile. “Hey, baby.” He hoped that Cas would take the cue.  
  
He did. He walked up to Dean and slid his hand into Dean’s fingers. “I was looking for you. You weren’t back yet.” Cas was making an effort to use a less gruff voice, a voice that reminded Dean of Jimmy Novak. “I was beginning to think you got lost; I mean, it is a new place.”  
  
“I’m fine.” Dean squeezed Cas’ hand and swung it back and forth a little. “Oh, Mary, this is my partner, Steve.” The name felt unfamiliar in his mouth. In fact, the whole sentence did. In retrospect, Dean would have rathered to have used a different sentence entirely, too late now.  
  
Mary blinked a few times. “Steve?” She nodded and stared blankly before she lifted an eyebrow; she slowly took in Cas’ appearance from his chest to his shoes. Dean didn’t like it.  
  
Cas grinned. “We’re FBI partners and romantic partners.” He gave an exaggerated wink. Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to face-palm or smile.  
  
Eyebrows arched a little higher than before, Mary directed her eyes back at Dean’s. “Well, welcome to the development.” Recovering, she grinned, coy like a cat, “Could I invite both of you into my house?” Her eyes shone like the little demon she was. Dean liked sex as much as anyone else, probably more; but, he didn’t share very well. Well, in a very different context, he was exceptionally good at sharing with Sammy – food, clothes, bathrooms. But, not in this case, he was not about to share Cas – or Steve, even if it was only a hypothetical situation.  
  
Smiling kindly, Cas tilted his head toward Dean. “Actually, we have plans; that’s why I came to look for, this directionally challenged piece of work.” He stepped away from the woman and tugged on Dean’s hand. “Thank you for the offer.”  
  
Grateful for Cas, Dean turned to follow, winking at the woman so as not to leave on a bad note; he’d learned to keep people on his good side while hunting.  
  
“Well, would you want to come to the Fling tonight?”  
  
Dean almost groaned. “The what?” He blinked at her with a pointed stare.  
  
Playing his part, Cas tugged on Dean’s arm; it meant that they would still leave after the woman’s next bit of information. Dean silently congratulated his angel on his people-watching.  
  
“Yeah,” she flipped her bangs; it would seem that her hair was stuck in place. “Everyone is going to be at the recreational center. We’re doing an auction. I’d say formal dress code; but, you seem to already have that done.” She waggled her eyebrow suggestively. Did she not get that Dean was with Cas, er… Lawrence was with Steve?  
  
Putting on his nicest smile, Dean began to back away. “We’ll think about it.” He put extra emphasis on the ‘we’ and the ‘think’ and walked away. He let out a large breath and looked straight ahead, already tired from the day. “She was annoying.”  
  
Cas looked over at Dean. “She was a bit grating; but, I wouldn’t say annoying. She just knows what she wants and pursues it.”  
  
“But, I made it pretty obvious that I was into you.” Dean winced at the words; but, knew that amending them would make it more suspicious. He began to withdraw his hand from Cas’.  
  
Clamping onto Dean’s hand, Cas made a quick glance behind him. “She can still see us; don’t let go yet.” Cas looked straight ahead. “Just because you’re into me doesn’t mean that she would have no chance at casual sex. I mean, perhaps we would have both had sex with her. Your relationship with me is not necessarily mutually exclusive of her having sex with you or us.”  
  
Dean swallowed. He did not want to have this conversation. He did not want to have to explain what demiromantic meant and that for him it included a no-sharing clause. “I mean, I’d want to be in a monogamous relationship.”  
  
“Why? Wouldn’t that get boring?” Cas swung their arms between them like they were speaking about bake sales or something. “I wouldn’t know. I have no experience; but, I feel that it would be something you weren’t interested in.”  
  
Inside Dean’s chest, a coldness began to radiate. He really wanted to let go of Cas’ hand. He didn’t want to continue the conversation. He was relieved that they were only a few steps away from turning the corner of the building and that they wouldn’t have to keep up the guise.  
  
“You’ve had quite a few sexual partners.”  
  
They rounded the corner and Dean dropped Cas’ hand. “Just because I’m okay with sharing myself doesn’t mean that I’m okay with sharing someone else.” He curled his hands into fists and kept walking. It took him a few steps to realize that Cas wasn’t following. He turned back to see Cas’ hand flexing in and out and a peculiar look on his face. “What?” Dean snapped, “Nothing to say, now.”  
  
Cas’ lips parted a little and his head twitched like he was trying to figure something out. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m only trying to understand.” He looked down at his hand then directed his gaze toward the pavement. “I think I have it now.” It was a small voice that Cas used.  
  
The anger leaked out of Dean and left him feeling guilty about his outburst. It wasn’t Cas’ fault that he was an angel and some things still didn’t make sense yet. Some things about humans would probably never make sense to an angel, no matter how low he lived and worked on Earth.  
  
“It’s okay if other’s share you; but, not okay if you have to share others.”  
  
Wincing, Dean waited for Cas to berate him for being selfish. In those words, which weren’t untrue, it sounded so selfish. When Dean looked up, though, there was no malice in Cas’ expression only determination.  
  
“I have to say that I think I’m the same way.” Cas looked back at his flexed hand and relaxed it.  
  
Dean shifted in the following silence.  
  
Snapping out of whatever thoughts he’d been having, Cas fixed his gaze back on Dean. “I was able to talk to the other victim’s family. Let’s go inside and we’ll talk about it.”


	6. High-Key Things

Under Dean’s strict orders, Cas had left his trench coat in their condo. It was a dead giveaway, or so Dean said. Cas wasn’t sure what he was giving away, but the way that the women and men looked at him, he was pretty sure that this was worse.  
  
He and Dean were attracting a lot of attention.  
  
Of course, the way Dean was parading around almost lent itself to attracting attention. It attracted Cas’ attention, if nothing else. He was wearing his suit with an almost snooty air. It was different to se Dean own his body in that way. Cas wished he’d do it more often.  
  
If Cas didn’t own his body, it was understandable. He was a celestial being folded over and over onto himself and tucked into a thimble. His movements remained awkward at best.  
  
He often thought about why the universe had decided to gift him with this body. After Jimmy passed one, the body was returned to him, wholly his. It wasn’t the prettiest or the buffest or the best suited for hunting. It was a dad.  
  
Dad.  
  
If Cas were made of lesser things than star stuff, he would have shook his fist at the night sky more than once. Why did his father decide to give him this body, embarrassing him as he walked the earth next to the Winchesters?  
  
Dean Winchester, who was smirking at a woman over a slim champagne glass in the center of a gymnasium in a suit, continues to embarrass Castiel. He was a flirt and used it to his advantage, even against him.  
  
Swallowing, Cas thought back to the earlier conversation. It was hard to believe what Dean had said when he turned around and flirted with the entire condominium population afterward.  
  
Really, believing Dean Winchester was hard on any day.  
  
Cas coughed at his own wording and decided to terminate that line of thought before it went too far. He took a sip from a glass almost identical to the one that Dean was waving around conversationally and walked over to join ‘Lawrence’.  
  
When Cas lit at his side, Dean wrapped an arm around to the small of his back. Dean’s fingers were steady and warm there. Without the trench coat, without that extra layer, it felt like Dean’s fingers were even closer, like it was a real touch and not one from ‘Lawrence’ to ‘Stephen’.  
  
“This is my better-half, Stephen.” Dean leaned over and kissed Cas’ temple.  
  
They’d discussed this, that they might have to put on quite a show at the auction. It was weird to have all of the personal space boundaries to come down so heavily, like a wall crashing down. The apartment, the kitchen, the bed were all instances of the wall that they had built up crumbling. Cas smiled; he hoped that it looked as real as Dean’s.  
  
Dean returned to his conversation. Cas didn’t really pay attention to it. He stood there are Dean’s side, watching the room. Something that he did often enough, but never had he tried to do it while Dean was consciously touching him. It wasn’t a passing connection at the shoulders or Dean’s chest brushing his back when he leaned forward to whisper something about the case in his ear or Dean’s thigh bouncing under the table at a diner.  
  
Cas was almost too distracted by Dean to notice the woman walking around taking the now empty glasses. She was short and wore large glasses. She had long auburn hair and a here eyes kept flickering back to an older woman in the corner.  
  
The woman in the corner seemed to be important. She had a buzz of people around her and she wore enough jewelry to keep her submerged under water despite struggling to swim upward. Even those things did not put her apart from the likes of this crowd, it was her necklace; an amulet used for control.  
  
Some people come across those sorts of things accidentally. Cas knew that, had witnessed that, but it was giving off an aura that meant that it was in use. Someone was under her control.  
  
“Who is she?” Cas turned back to the conversation that Dean had been having, probably interrupting, rudely, as he was prone to do. He nodded over to the woman and placed his glass on the tray offered.  
  
Blinking quickly, the woman’s tray wobbled slightly. She brought her other hand up to the side of the tray to balance it. “I hope you enjoy your evening.” It was almost a whisper. She turned to leave.  
  
“Wait.” Cas said. He took Dean’s glass from his other hand and placed it slowly onto the same tray. When he let go of its stem, he brushed his fingers over hers. He let his grace enter her at that contact. She was not the one under the control of the woman. She was only frightened. “Thank you,” He concluded sincerely.  
  
Dean tugged at his back and pulled him tighter to his side.  
  
When Cas turned to look at him, Dean’s eyes were trained on the same woman that Cas had indicated. He turned back to the girl. While Cas had been looking around, Dean seemed to have been a socialite. The woman who he’d been talking to about tennis when Cas last tuned in was halfway across the room. In her place was a teenage girl in a cocktail dress and large holes in her earlobes.  
  
Leaning forward, Dean whispered, “Any idea what they were fighting about?”  
  
The girl shrugged. “It must have been about some of the old Halloween stuff; they were talking about witches.” She ate an horsduevre from her plate.  
  
“Nella.” Dean stepped away from Cas, letting the arm around him go slack. Cas immediately missed the contact. Dean moved closer to Nella and took up her hands to dance with her.  
  
Cas wasn’t entirely sure what Dean was doing; he felt a pang at knowing that Sam would. Sam who was sick. Cas reached out with his grace for Sam and found him home in his room flicking through Netflix. He was crying, but, not from any pain to his body, he had just finished binging a season and was left with nothing more of the characters.  
  
Cas knew that feeling.  
  
Nella’s plate almost fell to the ground and crashed, but Cas reached out and caught it, swiftly. And with that, she and Dean were dancing.  
  
Cas got lost in the music and the people watching, again. It didn’t take much to distract him, not really.  
  
It wasn’t until the plate was being taken from his hand and given back to Nella that he came fully back to his senses. Dean pressed the hands together and tugged him onto the dance floor.  
  
Trying to follow, Cas’ hand slid from Dean’s shoulder to the juncture between it and his neck. It gave him a better handle and more leverage with which to move. Dean pressed into his body and Cas’ grace flared with a spark of something.  
  
“The woman is in charge of the cleaning ladies here. She owns the company that they are contracted from.” He licked his lips. “She’s the sister of the woman who owns the Laundromat. Dude, I don’t exactly know what we have here.”  
  
Cas huffed. “It sounds like we have ancestral magic.” He shook his head, somewhere between disgust and pity.  
  
Dean paused his stepping, but Cas continued, having caught the basic steps by then. In that moment, their roles on the dance floor changed. Dean’s hand skidded up to Cas’ shoulder trying to get a handle on the change. Cas’ hand fitted into Dean’s hip. Blushing, Dean’s mouth opened and closed a bit like a fish.  
  
It only served to bring Cas’ attention to his lips. He quickly placed it elsewhere. “A coven that all have the same lineage, a family coven, if you will.”  
  
“Why does that sound ominous?” Dean’s voice was more breath than not. Cas chocked it up to the other couples moving in; there was no way that Dean Winchester was flustered. That never happened. No one could get under his skin like that.  
  
Cas sighed. “It sounds ill-fated, because all of the values that you’ve come to associate with Coventry,” he locked harsh eyes on Dean’s, “have been paired with and reinforced with the values of family.”  
  
Swallowing, Dean’s eyes flicked back to the older woman in the corner, the one with the pendant. “What do we do?”  
  
“We lay low, deal with the murderer at hand and try not to be destroyed by them. We leave the coven alone as much as possible.” Cas steered them toward the edge of the dance floor, intending to leave.  
  
Dean followed willingly. “And what? Just let them keep going?” He seemed angry.  
  
“We can’t fight a familial coven alone, Dean. This would take the work of more than just us. We’ll have to come back for them later.”  
  
And that seemed to be the end of the discussion.  
  
They stuck around for the auction. Nothing seemed to be relevant. It was all rather boring to Cas. Everyone was fighting for expensive things. A table is a table, no matter who it was made by. His eyes stayed glued to the amulet around the ‘Auctioneer’s neck.  
  
\---  
  
Cas stripped for bed. Dean had made a beeline for the shower and Cas decided to let him be. It wasn’t as if Cas needed a shower, he just mojo’ed himself clean and went on with his night.  
  
It wasn’t long before Dean emerged from the steamy bathroom and just about flopped into bed, carefully on his side of the imaginary line down the middle. He said something, but it was muffled into the pillow and Cas hadn’t tuned in with his angelic hearing until after it was over.  
  
“What?” Cas turned slightly to look at Dean’s hair, the only part of his head that wasn’t buried in soft pillow.  
  
Dean’s shoulders heaved up and down with a large breath. He turned his head away from Cas and spoke again, “I had a brand.”  
  
Waiting, Cas held his breath or, more accurately, didn’t take unnecessary breaths.  
  
“I had a brand before you ‘raised me from perdition’.” He shifted onto his side, but still didn’t face Cas. “You asked me if I ever did any of that rebellious crap. Well, I did. I got a brand on my shoulder, over the blade. It was my mother’s favorite sigil.” He shivered.  
  
Cas wasn’t sure if he should reach out and try to comfort him or not. He began to but thought better of it.  
  
“When I was little, she used to put it next to her name when she signed her little notes to me or dad.” His voice broke. “It was a luck symbol.” He sniffed.  
  
This time, Cas didn’t stop himself. He reached out his hand and laid it on Dean’s shoulder.  
  
Dean shuddered. “Didn’t help her in the end, but it was something to remind me of her.” He laughed. “Didn’t help me either, did it?” He blew out a breath. “Just a dumb guy who wanted to make a difference, just ruined it further.  
  
At that, Cas pulled on Dean’s shoulder, forcing him onto his back. Dean craned his neck so that his face was still hidden from Cas, looking the other way. He sniffled.  
  
Shaking his head, Cas spoke low. “That’s not true. You’ve made a lot of difference.”  
  
Dean’s head whipped around to stare defiantly.  
  
Cas wasn’t sure how to make Dean believe it. Dean was the one out of the two of them that was good at convincing people of things, especially though who didn’t want to be convinced. “I’ve a very different person now than when we started.” He didn’t know if those were the right words.  
  
Eye softening, Dean’s lip quivered. He scooted closer to Cas, tucking his head into the crook of Cas’ neck, before falling to sleep.  
  
Cas reached over him and tapped the base of the lamp. He wasn’t sure how much sleep he would actually get knowing that he’d accidentally removed something so important from Dean’s body. Brands look like scars or burns to someone that doesn’t know any better. Cas knew that he’d healed all of Dean’s scars when he put him back together.


	7. Magic Things

There was a new victim at the newly reopened Laundromat and it seemed like it wasn’t going to be pretty.  
  
Dean pulled back into the Laundromat’s parking lot. It looked very different in the day light, much friendlier. Cas was no longer lit by the awkward glow of the street light; but, he was still going without his tie. That morning, he’d redressed himself in his suit and Dean realized, belatedly, that he would most probably need to grab Cas some other clothes to help him blend in. He added Walmart to his mental to-do list.  
  
Making their way through the police cars that had returned to the scene in the daylight, Cas swept through. No one asked for an ID; so, Cas showed none. Dean wondered if it was because he was an angel and people could sense the authority that he exuded.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
Dean turned to the young police officer in full blues. “Yes, FBI.” He pulled out his badge from his coat pocket. He adjusted his suit and tie. “Could you explain this for me?”  
  
The police officer turned around and slung his hands into his belt. “I can’t say that I can.” He shifted his feet around. “It’s pretty gruesome. Some psycho is feeding people bleach, shredding their chests and stomachs, and cutting them into little tiny pieces. Then they’re cleaning up the mess.” He shook his head in some sort of institutionalized pity.  
  
“I’m sorry; did you say that the killer cleans up?” Dean could get behind a killer that cleaned up its messes. Well, not the killing innocent people part; but, the part where it cleaned up. It was very similar to what Dean did; he always had to clean up after a messy take-down.  
  
Interrupted by a loud beep from the walkie-talkie, the police officer was radioed something that to Dean’s ear sounded like static but must have meant something to him. He excused himself and walked into through the doors.  
  
Cas emerged from behind him and made a tight turn to walk down the sidewalk away from both the crime scene and Baby. Dean followed. Cas’ trench billowed behind him as he booked to wherever the hell he was going. He paused at the corner of the building and held his hand up for Dean to stop, too.  
  
Leaning over Cas’ shoulder, Dean whispered in his ear, “What are we doing?”  
  
Cocking his head toward Dean, “We’re about to question out first suspect.” He waited a moment longer before stepping out in front of the alley way that separated the Laundromat from the rest of the strip mall. “Hello.”  
  
Somehow, Cas managed to look menacing with a stern expression – eyes squinted and his plush lips pressed tight together into a thin line. Dean looked away quickly to ensure that his FBI suit wouldn’t start to get too tight. As it was, he brought a hand up to the knot in his tie and ran a finger under the collar of his white oxford.  
  
That morning, he’d convinced himself to forget about all of this Cas mess, especially since they’re in close quarters. It wasn’t working though, obviously.  
  
He stuck a hand in his pocket, shook himself a little then pivoted around the corner of the Laundromat to see this ‘suspect’. She was tall, aided by her shiny red heels. She sunk into a hip which pulled her mini skirt tight across her hips. Dean almost whirled around again; because, really, he didn’t need Cas making his sexy, badass face and missy red-lips pouting her bottom lip. He really need to think about Bobby in his too-short, fuzzy robe that he’d accidentally been privy to back in 9th grade. He let out a long, low breath.  
  
Cas reached in his pocket and pulled out a velvetine hex bag. “I believe you dropped something.”  
  
The woman’s pout morphed into more of a worried expression, her eyes a fraction wider than the moment before and her stance rose out of her hip a bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
Licking his lips, Dean turned. He put his hands on his hips, lifting the suit jacket out of the way and ‘accidentally on purpose’ revealing his firearm. He tucked his lips together and bit at the inside before looking up at the woman with raised eyebrows.  
  
Having frozen at the sight of his pistol, the woman snapped back to life when Dean fixed his gaze at her. Her stance melted, sagging in the shoulders and her eyes lost the final glint of rebelliousness. “I was just trying to help.”  
  
“Help?” Dean bit down hard in his mouth, teeth against teeth, before responding, “A man is dead.”  
  
She looked taken aback. “Well, I didn’t kill him. All I did was throw down that hex bag to warn off the killer.” She ran one hand over her opposite arm in a defensive posture. “My family owns the place.” She rolled her eyes.  
  
Cas nodded. “She isn’t lying. She isn’t the killer.” He spun around making his way to the Impala.  
  
“Can I have my hex bag back?” The woman looked at Dean. Her lips were lightly pursed and she had a look of mild disgust pulled over her doll-like face.  
  
Turning to catch up to Cas, Dean called back to her, “Sorry, I’m afraid that it’s evidence.”  
  
\---  
  
Dean decided to work on his to-do list, the easiest of which was to take Cas to Walmart and get some clothing that would help him to blend in. Usually it didn’t matter. People at motels were known to walk in and out in the same clothes; people that live in expensive condominiums may be considered weird if they don’t change at least twice a day.  
  
In the passenger seat, Cas was deconstructing the hex bag, carefully untying it as if it were a bomb, which, with their luck, could be very possible.  
  
“I am so happy it isn’t a witch. I hate witches, man.” Dean shivered. “They are freaky and nasty and-”  
  
“You seemed to enjoy her presence.” Cas said it without looking up from the unfolded velvet. It had been filled with some shells, a crystal, and a rolled up slip of paper. Cas was using one finger to gently prod through it.  
  
Dean made a turn onto a main road. He had looked it up on his phone before he left and, since service was always dodgy when the highway was lined with trees on both sides, he’d committed the directions to memory. He knew that they only had 2 more turns before coming upon the store. “What made you think that she was the killer, anyway?”  
  
Shoving the bag into Dean’s face, Cas commanded him, “Sniff.”  
  
The low growl from Cas shot through Dean’s bones to the point that his knees trembled for a moment. He took a sniff and almost coughed. “Cayenne Pepper.”  
  
“Yes.” Cas began to unfurl the tiny scroll.  
  
There was more traffic on the main road and Dean had to pay better attention to the other drivers. A quick glance revealed that it was in an Enochian script. If he had to, he’d be able to translate it rather easily; but, since Cas was there, he went the lazy route and asked “What does it say?” He spotted the Walmart sign off in the distance and pulled to the right-hand lane.  
  
Cas rolled the scroll back up. “It says ‘go away’ but in fowl language.”  
  
Chuckling, Dean nodded. “Nice.” He turned into the Walmart parking lot and parked toward the back of the parking lot, not trusting the other drivers near his Baby. “Alright, let’s go.” He unfolded himself from the car and stretched his arms. “Time to get you some clothes.”  
  
Stepping out with a confused look, Cas glanced around. “Why must we procure clothing? I have perfectly acceptable clothing.” Cas looked down on himself and picked at his oxford shirt.  
  
“Because we’re staying at place that will actually notice if you wear the same thing every day.” Dean explained, tucking one hand into a pocket. They walked brisk through the parking lot and almost got hit no less than 4 times, idiot Walmart drivers.  
  
Once inside, Dean made a beeline to the jeans and Wrangler shirts. “Come on, Cas. Pick out some clothes and let’s get out of here.” He threw his selections over his arm and turned to see Cas glaring at the graphic tees in the next section over. “Cas,” he groaned then stalked back over to the angel.  
  
Cas was attempting a staring match with a men’s My Little Pony shirt. “Why are their colors so abstract?”  
  
Almost laughing, Dean shook his head. “It’s for kids. Kids like things that are colorful.” He ran a hand over the Led Zeppelin T-shirt on the row above.  
  
“But, this is the grown men’s section.” Cas looked up at the large blue signs that, indeed, validated his claim.  
  
Dean looked at the price of the graphic tees before searching through the Zeppelin shirts to find his size. He added that to the pile on his arm. “Some people buy it so they can where it to make their kids happy; others seem to genuinely enjoy the show. Others are just creeps.” Dean glared at the shirt, abruptly reminded of how many creepy, middle-aged men could use the shirt to their advantage around kids.  
  
Seemingly satisfied with Dean’s explanation, Cas nodded, pivoted on his heel, and moved on. He almost ran into a rack full of religious shirts. The one at the front of the line proclaimed, “Jesus believes that you will succeed.”  
  
Cas stared for a long moment, long enough that Dean was beginning to worry that he was interested in buying it.  
  
As always though, Cas surprised him. “This is not factual.” Cas picked at the shirt’s sleeve. “Christ knows that you will fail; that is why he came in an attempt to save humanity.” Turning to Dean, he exuded confusion even more than usual. “Why would someone where this? It could be highly offensive.”  
  
Shrugging, Dean pushed Cas away from the bible thumper stuff. “Come on, we need to get you some clothing; so that you’ll fit in at the condo.”  
  
Despite that Dean was pushing Cas in the direction of more appropriate clothes, Cas turned around. “In that case, we will need to buy you clothes as well; I can think of none of your clothes that would make you inconspicuous.”  
  
Dean stopped. “No, you need clothes; I got clothes.”  
  
“You do have clothes; but, you do not have clothes like the others at the development site. One woman stared at you while we were waiting for the elevator between breakfast and going to Laundromat. Many of the men were wearing khaki pants or shorts and pastel colored oxfords. One man was wearing a pair of very short shorts while he was jogging. I must insist that you have just as many appropriate clothes as I do.”  
  
While Cas had been speaking, Dean had been gaping at him. He quickly looked away, seeming to try and come up with an excuse; he then let out a light sigh and his expression turned resigned. “Well, aren’t you observant,” he grumbled in response. “Fine.”  
  
Smiling, Cas led them to the pastel shirts and khaki pants section. Neither of them knew Cas’ size; so, after various articles of clothing being handed to him over the top, they found that he was a size smaller than Dean in both shirts and pants.  
  
Dean picked out two pairs of khaki pants because he did NOT do shorts; but, after Cas had done his best impression of a bitchface at him, Dean had added a pair of khaki shorts to the mix. Cas selected the shirts, two for Dean – one in a murky yellow and the other in a light green – and three for himself – one in a pale blue, one with a floral print, and one in a pale yellow. He had a pair of khaki shorts and a pair of dark slacks.  
  
“Those look like the pants you wore when you were Emmanuel.” Dean jabbed a finger at the navy blue slacks, a soft smirk playing at his face.  
  
Cas looked at them for a long moment; they had recently acquired a cart. “Daphne had told me that I looked good in them.”  
  
Hunched over the back of the cart, Dean pushed it slowly through the clothes toward the food. Another section on his to-do list was to get something to eat. He wasn’t 24 anymore; he would not be able to eat pizza every morning that they were there. “You did look good in them.” It slipped out of his mouth before he realized that it was probably a weird thing to say to a friend.  
  
“You think so.” One of Cas’ eyebrows was raised. It was a look that few people received from Cas. Dean didn’t have a good way to describe it but opted to refer to it, in the privacy of his head, as the ‘dom eyebrow’.  
  
Swallowing, Dean nodded and Cas seemed pleased with the answer.  
  
While passing the socks, Cas pointed to a pair with feather print. “May I also get those?”  
  
“Shit.” Dean stopped and stood straight up, looking around for the shoe section. “We’ll both need a pair of shoes, too. No way either of us could get away with wearing what we have now.” He turned the cart and was about to head to the shoe section; but, Cas stopped him by clearing his throat. Dean turned back around with his friend.  
  
Cas hadn’t moved yet. His face was still pinched and his finger was still pointing at the socks. He repeated in a lower voice; Dean felt like he had been called to the principal’s office – but it was much hotter. “May I also get these?”  
  
A lumping manifested in Dean’s throat again; but, he nodded.  
  
At that, Cas smiled and pulled the socks from the wrung. He tossed them into the cart then nodded for Dean to continue to the shoe section.


	8. Boring Things

Cas fiddled with the door handle and key trying to let them back into the condo. His other hand was pulled down by grocery bags; and, more had to be put on the floor so he could use the current hard with the key. He yet again twisted it the wrong way.  
  
“Hurry up, Cas, I think I’m losing feeling in my fingers.” Dean groaned from behind him. He bounced up and down minutely with impatience.  
  
Turning the key the correct way, Cas nudged the door open with his opposite elbow. He picked up the bags he had put on the ground and entered the condo.  
  
Dean rushed by chanting a mantra of “move move move move move”. He half-way hopped, half-way skipped to the kitchen counter and deposited the bags there. He shook his hands out and bounced up and down some more.  
  
Calm in comparison, Cas walked to the counter and did the same with the bags in his hands. He flexed and curled his fingers; but, maintained more mature state. “Then you shouldn’t have insisted on one trip.”  
  
Whining, Dean grimaced. “But we’re on the fourth floor.” He began to put groceries away in their respective places. Cas wasn’t entirely confident with his knowledge in that content area; so, he opted for taking the clothes to the bedroom and separating them into two piles.  
  
When he returned to the kitchen, Dean was putting the Styrofoam take-out containers – one being the standard rectangle and the other being a bowl and cover combo – of Chinese food on the side of the island with stools. Cas got out a fork and a spoon from the drawer – included with their furnishings – before he sat down and opened the container.  
  
“Sam would be so upset.” Dean snickered as he opened his as well and took a fork from where the utensils had nested together on the counter. Dean had two green things and they happened to be the broccoli that was mixed with the teriyaki beef; Cas had gotten nothing but egg drop soup. He had explained that it still tasted good. Dean had argued that it had never tasted good.  
  
Spooning the soup to his mouth, Cas practically melted into the taste. It was nice to find something that was just as enjoyable with an angel palette and a human palette. It was all various states of chicken; so, his taste buds didn’t get confused. “So, I think we should head to the library today before we try to make any decisions on the case. Even Sam didn’t know what we were going after.”  
  
Almost dropping his broccoli and beef combo from his fork, Dean jerked. “I forgot to call Sam.” He finished putting the food in his mouth, returned his fork to his beef, and patted at his jean pockets to locate his cell phone. He brought if forward from his back pocket and tapped it to life.  
  
Cas slurped at his soup while Dean dialed in the number on the touch screen.  
  
The phone rang twice on speaker before Sam answered, “Hello?” His nose must not have been as stuffed because it sounded much closer to a normal hello.  
  
Waving his hands around, Dean gestured to his mouth where he was still chewing food.  
  
“Dean wants me to speak because he has food in his mouth. I am slightly confused though, since, that has never stopped him in the past.” He shot a raised eyebrow look to Dean.  
  
Still chewing, Dean swooped his hand in a tumble in front of his chest.  
  
“Oh, and sorry for calling late.”  
  
Dean shot him a thumbs-up.  
  
The phone’s screen went dark when Sam replied, “Itd’s okay; I figured you guys were doing sombething. You dondt have to call bme, you dknow.” The nasal edge to his voice was more noticeable when he spoke for longer periods of time.  
  
Having expected Sam to talk longer, Dean had put more food in his mouth forcing Cas to speak, again. It worked out though, because Cas knew what Dean was trying to communicate. They had always been really good at reading each other; but, as of late, it had gotten even easier since they were both living at the bunker and operating in close proximity. “We saw the crime scene. The victims are force fed bleach, then scratched with what look like the claws of a wolf, then cut into small pieces. There was also Cayenne Pepper at the crime scene.”  
  
“Okay, so what havbe you guys found about it so far?”  
  
Cas raised an eyebrow at Dean. The same way that he had raised it earlier that day and received the same response as earlier. It did not disappoint, drawing a pretty blush to Dean’s cheeks. Cas was unsure why Dean blushed; but, Dean looked really pretty when he blushed so Cas wasn’t complaining. “We haven’t started looking.”  
  
Rushing, Dean began to chew faster.  
  
“You havend’t cracked out the laptop? You havend’t gonde to dthe library? What have you done-d?”  
  
Dean swallowed somewhat prematurely and began to cough. He waved his hands in an abortive gesture; but, Cas was full of his shit thus far.  
  
“We went shopping for clothes.” Cas spoke clear and direct to the phone. “And shoes.”  
  
Recovering for his coughing spell, Dean patted Cas’ shoulder. “Okay, Cas go do something, please.”  
  
Cas stood and took Dean’s garbage to the trashcan and put the rest of the egg drop soup in the fridge.  
  
Taking the phone off speaker, Dean spoke with his brother.  
  
\---  
  
Despite being given the go ahead earlier – which had obviously been a way to get rid of him, Cas had to fight for the right to drive. It hardly ever happened; but, he was able to convince Dean that he should look over the case a bit more before they got to the library. Dean had, at first, been against the idea, fighting tooth and nail; but, somehow Cas had won and was sitting in the driver’s seat while Dean scanned over the newspaper clippings and the photos on his phone.  
  
Wiggling his toes, Cas eased off the gas when they began to roll down a steep hill in the road. They each had changed so that they would fit in with the weird style standards of the area. Cas was wearing his navy blue slacks and floral print shirt with sandals. The sandals were the most foreign object though. Cas hadn’t worn them in so long. The last time he had used sandals; he had been offering Jesus a meal in disguise when he was passing through a small village by the sea.  
  
The sensation was welcome after years of closed-toe shoes. He enjoyed the way his toes had room to move. Dean wasn’t wearing open-toed shoes. He was wearing Converse sneakers. They were black and white and had a lot of lacing; Cas enjoyed the simplicity in his shoe choice.  
  
“Hey, Cas?”  
  
Flicking his eyes to the road, fearing that Dean would be upset if Cas was driving Baby without paying enough attention, Cas swallowed the fright that trickled down his neck. “What?”  
  
Dean shifted in his seat and brought the pictures closer to his face. He tried to balance the folder on one leg at the same time as Cas took the turn into the library’s parking lot. The papers fell over and filled the footwell. “Shit.” Dean immediately doubled over to try and collect them.  
  
Once the car was safely parked in a parking space, Cas helped. He reached over and stacked the newspaper articles that were on the closest side of the footwell before handing them up to Dean. “What were you saying before?”  
  
Like a moose caught in the headlights, Dean just stared at Cas before shaking his head and licking his lips in preparation to speak. “In all these photos, the ones that show the crowd, this woman is in all of them.” He pointed to a woman with a long tunic-blouse and leggings. In another picture, she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. In another, she was in a long raincoat; but, it was pretty darn definite that it was her.  
  
Reviewing the images, Cas felt his face scrunch in confusion. “But, how do we find her; she could be anywhere.” When Dean didn’t respond, Cas looked up from the photos.  
  
Dean was wearing his ‘accidents don’t happen accidentally’ expression. He shook his head minutely. “I think we just did.”  
  
Through the front windows of the library; the rich neighborhood made mostly of brand new developments had a hefty wallet and that hefty wallet meant that half of the library was glass. It had some funky architecture that made it look like one side was melting into the sky. It was metal and glass and white stone.  
  
“Well then,” Dean tucked the pictures back into the folder and tucked his phone in his khaki pants’ pocket, “she isn’t going to interview herself.”  
  
\---  
  
They found a few good resources, some housing records, a few deaths that occurred in the Laundromat, information on the other kill sites. Dean mostly looked into monsters that would clean up after themselves, not much came up, a few serial killers, some local legends, faeries.  
  
Dean had gone into the shelves to get another book while Cas pinched and spread the screen of Dean’s phone to get a better look at what the police thought. From what they had written, the police had very little. There were no fingerprints other than the victim’s in each case. The bodies were always bleach ridden, slashed at, then cut up. Anything else about the victims had been chopped up so fine that they couldn’t analyze it properly.  
  
The dumps did have one other thing in common, though, Cas was beginning to see it. Other than the two stuffed in washing machines and the one that was stored in a fridge, the rest of the victim’s dump sites had the same shape. Cas couldn’t really read what shape it was; it wasn’t a letter or any sigil that he recognized form angelic or demonic lore.  
  
Dean returned with an ancient looking book. Its spine was worn so much that the words were illegible. “I think I found something.” He pointed to the page he had opened the book to, when it hit the table. “A household deity.” He tapped the page twice rapidly with his finger, something he usually did when he thought he was on to something.  
  
“Okay.” Cas slid the book closer to him. “So, what are we looking for?” When Cas looked up, he found that Dean’s face was very close to his. He had slid the book between the two of them and both had continued to look over the page.  
  
Biting his bottom lip, Dean finished the sentence that he was on. “That’s the thing.” He moved from worrying his lip to the inside of his cheek. Cas ended up staring at the movement at Dean’s mouth. It was highly distracting. His lips moved and the inside corners of his mouth looked soft; Cas was close enough to see how soft the inside of Dean’s lips looked.  
  
“Dude!”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows had pulled together in the middle of his face. “Anyway,” he put extra emphasis on the word, probably telling Cas to stop whatever the hell he was doing, “Household deities can look like anything; they were meant to blend in. In the beginning they looked like hairy lumps; but, supposedly they became better at hiding. People morphed them into normal-looking things to avoid witch trials and such.” He tapped another spot on the page, probably were he had read that specific information.  
  
Following Dean’s finger to the page, Cas nodded. “Okay, then, what do we do now?”  
  
With a quirk to his lips, Dean slowly stood from the table. “Now, we talk to our mystery girl.” He nodded his head in the direction of the lady at the front desk. She looked unassuming, reading a book or stamping call cards, normal librarian stuff.  
  
Cas bit his teeth together in thought. “How do you suppose we do that?”  
  
“Well, I don’t know what you’re going to do; but, I’m going to check out these books.” Dean said it in a mocking tone and turned toward the desk. He spoke over his shoulder, “You’re welcome to observe,” he smirked at Cas before continuing on and getting in line at the end of the queue.  
  
Glaring at Dean was how Cas spent the next half a minute or so. He glared at Dean’s profile. He glared at the back of Dean’s head. He glared at Dean’s back which proved unfruitful because the new green shirt clung to his back prettily. Cas could see all of his muscles and that frustrated Cas further, but sexually instead of generally.  
  
When Dean was second from the desk, he looked over at Cas and shot a cocky grin and winked in mockery. Cas decided not to let Dean interrogate this one. He was going to.


	9. Research Things

He was next in line. This was going to be easy. He had picked out two books that were sure to get him on the right path in this conversation. One was on serial killers; he could open the conversation about the murders by saying that they piqued his scholastic interest; or, he had a book on local myths which he could use to bring up whether or not she thinks that these newest murders could become a local myth.  
  
Nodding to himself, Dean felt a sense of pride. Having done this for his whole life – minus four years – he knew how to get things done. So did Sam; but, Cas was still a friggin’ can of electric eels when it came to this stuff. Sometimes he just sort of wiggled in place; but, other times he’d shock you.  
  
Nancy, the woman’s name was Nancy – at least, that was what her name tag said. She smiled at the man before Dean and told him to have a good day. She was very pretty; but, she was too nice. It grated on Dean’s nerves.  
  
She was just about to call Dean up to the register when someone cut in front of him. Oh, Dean would have none of that. It was going down.  
  
“Yes, hello, sorry to barge in; but, do you know where the non-fiction section is?”  
  
Dean’s anger turned into confusion; that was Cas. Okay, Cas looked very different when he was wearing shorts and sandals. He had really nice looking legs though. Cas turned around and acted as if he hadn’t known Dean was standing there. “Oh, honey, I thought you were still looking for the book. I was about to come find you.” Cas smirked since nametag-Nancy could see his face. “Did you get the book?”  
  
He was such a sneaky bastard; count Dean as shocked. Dean smiled though and took note of the pet name; he was about to pet name all over Cas to get back at him. Dean decided what character he was going to play before lazily cocking his head to the side and smiling brightly. “Of course, pet.” Dean approached the counter. “I was about to check it out,” he pressed his side against Cas’ and whispered in Cas’ ear, “so we could get home.” He pulled away and added an innocent little smile to the end.  
  
Shell shock spread across Cas’ face before one of his eyebrows rose up. “Really? I thought we had some other plans.” He slung his arm around Dean’s back and gripped around the far side of his waist, making Dean’s stomach erupt into butterflies.  
  
Swallowing the butterflies back down, Dean grinned easily. “I figured that we could cancel.”  
  
“But, I think dinner should come first.” Cas squeezed at Dean’s waist.  
  
Immediately, Dean snipped back, “Well, I just want dessert.” When he noticed what he had said and then remembered that they were standing in front of a total stranger, possible killer, he blushed to his ears again. That had definitely gone a little too far, too easily for a cover.  
  
Heat closing his throat, Dean let Cas take over. “Okay, Lawrence. I’ll think about it.”  
  
Why that response made Dean blush harder was a complete and utter mystery, except that it definitely wasn’t.  
  
Cas turned back to nametag-Nancy. “I’m so sorry. Could we please take out these books?” He gently pulled the books from Dean’s arms and slid them across the counter. “We were talking about the local murders the other day and Lawrence here decided he wanted to learn all he could about it. I think part of him is scared that he’s going to be next.” Cas laughed lightly.  
  
Nodding, nametag-Nancy took the books and scanned their barcodes. “If you ask me, I think they’re tragic; but, those people had it coming.” She typed into the computer.  
  
“What do you mean?” Cas sounded so sincere that it made Dean question every sincere thing Cas had ever said to him.  
  
She pushed the books back across the counter. “I mean, that I was there, at a lot of them. Those people were nasty people.” She printed a receipt for the books. “The woman a week back was the drunkard that bashed her cat’s head in when she went on a bender.” She looked over the receipt and handed it and the book over the counter. “I work at the local shelter, you see, in my free time, volunteering and all.”  
  
Cas’s face drew closed with thought. “You said you were there?”  
  
“Yep. Usually on calls.” She smiled politely and checked behind Dean to see if there was a line. Dean knew there wasn’t.  
  
This gave Dean the opportunity to speak though; because, Cas turned to look as well. “Librarians do calls?” Dean figured he already knew the answer; but, he wanted to make sure.  
  
Shaking her head with a small smile, she looked at Cas asking something with eyes. After a moment, she looked to Dean. “No silly, for the animal shelter.”  
  
\---  
  
Dean stood over a pot on the stove. While at Walmart, he had picked up some soup for dinner. It was easy and quick and didn’t involve too many pans. “Do you want any, Cas?”  
  
Whatever Cas was doing, he was doing it in the other room. “No, I still have egg drop soup.”  
  
“That stuff is gross. Try some of this?” Dean fiddled with the settings on the stove before he moved away to slice some of the mini baguette he’d gotten. He friggin’ loved those things. When he and Sammy were little they used to get one of those and eat it with all kinds of different stuff, marshmallow fluff, pimento, cheese-in-a-can. It was cheap and it was variety.  
  
Cas entered the room with Dean’s phone in his hand. “I’ll try some of your soup, hate it, then go back to my egg drop; how’s that?” He placed Dean’s phone on the island and took a seat in the same stool he’d occupied earlier. “Do you remember the earrings that the librarian had?”  
  
Thinking back, Dean couldn’t say that he did. “No, why?” He lifted the cutting board and knife and turned around so he could continue to slice the baguette while talking to Cas.  
  
Leering at him, Cas added in a low voice, “Turn back around, Lawrence; I liked the view.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips in a look of sarcastic disbelief.  
  
Cas chuckled.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean continued slicing the bread. “Anyway…” He shot a pointed look at Cas.  
  
Still smiling, Cas went on. “They were a peculiar shape. I know I’ve seen it and I know that it’s fairly common; but, I can’t think of the name of the shape. It’s the same shape that the bodies were dumped in.”  
  
“Well, that’s kind of important.” Dean glared at Cas across the island. “When were you planning on telling me?”  
  
Shrugging, Cas slid the phone forward with the image zoomed into the shape of the body dump. “Right now?”  
  
Cas brought his elbows onto the island and placed his head into his hands. “It’s the – it’s the shape of Harry Potter’s Scar; but, I can’ remember-”  
  
“Lightning bolt?” Dean supplied. He thought it was funny that Cas had all the pop culture knowledge, gifted to him by Metatron, but still managed to be completely awkward.  
  
Jerking his head up, Cas pointed at him in victory. “That’s it!”  
  
Dean laughed. “Of course it is.” He went back to slicing bread. “So, other than Harry potter, what can that mean?”  
  
Looking clueless, Cas shrugged. “I’m going to go get the laptop.”  
  
“Yeah, you should go do that.” Dean watched Cas go. He was about to mention how good Cas looked; but, he realized that it would be too similar to what Cas had done earlier and decided against it.  
  
\---  
  
According to a few different sites, lightning bolts could be just about anything; but, Dean had reviewed their photo copies from the library and found that in many of the cases it had been a double lightning bolt or crossed lightning bolts and that narrowed their search.  
  
They each had their soup at their elbow at the island stools and the laptop was light up in front of them. Cas had done exactly as he had explained – tasted, disliked, then reheated the egg drop soup for his dinner. Dean just rolled his eyes.  
  
They quickly ruled out the use of the symbol at a prison tattoo and as a racial symbol.  
  
Nothing came up fruitful so they soon gave up for the night. Dean texted the details to Sam, since he knew Sam was probably itching to research something.  
  
Dean and Cas stripped down and crawled into bed. It wasn’t long before they were each asleep – or as close as a hunter and an angel get..  
  
\---  
  
The morning came too soon in Dean’s opinion. He was snuggly and warm and comfortable and he really did not want to have to uncacoon himself to turn off his alarm; but, it was a truly nasty sounding alarm.  
  
“Turn it off, Dean.” It was mumbled into Dean’s neck and suddenly Dean was entirely and utterly awake. During the night, they must have gravitated toward each other because Cas and Dean were in a knot of limbs in the center of the bed.  
  
Quickly, Dean extracted himself from the two-man dog pile and shut off his alarm. He stood and stretched. Turning around, he caught Cas’ eyes slit open and watching. He glowered, “Get up.”  
  
Cas groaned. “I don’t want to. I was nice and warm.” He curled into a ball in the spot that Dean had been and pushed his face into the pillow. Dean tried not to read into that at all; but, his dick was hooked on phonics.  
  
Excusing himself to the bathroom, he issued a light threat. “When I get out of the shower, you had better be up.” He pointed an accusatory finger at his friend and stalked out of the room. Once in the bathroom, he gripped the edge of the white porcelain sink. “Why?” He stared down at his tented boxers. He spoke to the tent. “You’re really inconsiderate.”  
  
He began to strip for his shower. He made a pile of clothes in the corner, took a piss, and then began to play with the controls in the tub. Once he got the right balance of hot and cold – a bit on the cold side – he stepped in and began his daily routine plus a little bit of masturbation.  
  
When he was done, he stepped from the shower and onto the fuzzy white rug that protected his feet from the cold, tile floor. Yanking a towel from the rack, he rubbed it over his head and back.  
  
In his haste to leave Cas before his erection was noticed, he forgot to grab clothes; so, he wrapped himself in the towel and sucked in a deep breath, reminding himself that he’d done this when Sammy was in the room a million times. Another part of his brain, the particularly annoying part, kept reminding him that Cas wasn’t Sam.  
  
Opening the door, Dean could see that Cas was still a lump in the middle of the bed. “Get up!” Dean tugged the covers off of him and set about getting clothes. At first, he selected a pair of jeans and a few shirts; but, the neat stack of Walmart-tagged clothes reminded him that he was supposed to be keeping up their disguise.  
  
He took another set from the new clothes – avoiding the shorts – and quickly dressed. Cas’ back was turned. It wasn’t until he looked up afterwards and he saw the mirror on the other side of the room, that he realized that Cas could see him.  
  
Cas’ eyes were big and his lips were parted and he was as pale as a ghost.  
  
Standing there as if he were struck by the double bolt of lightning himself, Dean just stared and felt the blush creep from his shoulders up his neck and into his hairline. “I’m making breakfast, “ he announced before turning and leaving the room.  
  
He went into the kitchen and tried not to think about the look of horror on Cas’ face. Perhaps changing in the same room had been too much for him. Perhaps Dean overstepped a line. Perhaps Cas forgot how many scars Dean had acquired since he was raised from Hell.  
  
Dean hunched over the counter top pushing his face into crossed arms before moving his arms and laying his burning face of the cool countertop. It was soothing and upsetting all at the same time. Growling, Dean forced himself to begin making breakfast. He wasn’t sure if he should make enough for one or two; but, he also hadn’t built up the mental strength to talk aloud yet, let alone to Cas.  
  
So, he went about cooking eggs in a frying pan with runny yokes; it was easy enough to make another for Cas if he chose to eat. He pulled a few more pieces of the baguette out of the long bag and set those on his plate too.  
  
Since everything was too quiet and his head was buzzing, Dean decided to turn on the television. It lit up to a news report, “Elderly Woman Found Dead in Laudromat This Morning.” Dean sighed, that was right; he couldn’t let whatever just happened get between them and the completion of this hunt. He tuned into the news and started to pretend that the morning’s events hadn’t happened.


	10. Nazi Things?

Dean and Cas rushed over to the Laundromat. They blended into the crowd easily enough and could see enough from where they were. This body wasn’t even completely cut up. The killer must have been interrupted half way through or something.  
  
Steadily and with careful attention to detail, Dean looked around to catalogue everything. There were claw marks on the elderly lady’s chest, stomach, and thigh. Dean was able to take in the scene and Cas was grateful because he couldn’t take his eyes away from the victim’s face; he recognized her from somewhere. Then, it dawned on him.  
  
“I know that woman.” Cas spoke low, still staring at the body, half-minced.  
  
Dean whirled back around and his eyebrows shot up. “What, really? Where?”  
  
Shaking his head softly, Cas frowned at the unfortunate turn of events. “She lived in 413 in Cape Sent.”  
  
“How do you know that?” Dean turned so his entire body faced Cas’; it was a sign that Dean was giving him his whole attention. “We’ve only been there a few days.”  
  
Biting his lip, Cas didn’t want to say; he knew that it would anger Dean. “When I returned from the grocery stores the other day, the ones that weren’t open. She had been sitting outside on a bench. She had goaded me into conversation. We were talking and I mentioned that I had moved in with you and she became rather angry. She called me many derogatory terms before she left to go inside.” Cas thought back to it. “It was very awkward; because I was going the same way. We ended up in the same elevator and she would not even breathe in my direction. I had waited at the elevator door for her to get a head start on her room.”  
  
Frowning, anger flitting in his eyes, Dean took a step closer. His hands came up to run down Cas’ arms in a sign of protection and comfort. Cas reveled in it; especially since Dean had been acting weird since that morning. But, if Cas were being truthful, he’d have to admit that he was acting a bit weird too.  
  
He’d seen Dean’s entire form when he was dead; but, seeing it again after Dean had full possession over it again, seeing the golden that he’d gotten from working on the car, seeing the way he commanded his muscles. It was like comparing a limp sock puppet to a Greek, marble statue. Cas had been so flustered that he couldn’t have stopped staring if he’d tried; which admittedly, he didn’t try very hard.  
  
Speaking of very hard, he’d have to stop thinking about this is he didn’t want to end up that way.  
  
Dean swallowed and licked his lips which didn’t help with Cas’ predicament. “I’m sorry that happened.” He squeezed on Cas’ arms and then let his hands drop to his sides. Their eyes met and they had a bit of a moment. Cas was trying to count what he affectionately deemed the freckles in Dean’s eyes; Dean had gold flecks scattered through the green of his iris.  
  
The moment was broken when movement behind Cas caught Dean’s eye. Dean began to move toward it and Cas followed, not entirely certain of the destination. Soon, though, Cas didn’t have to. They stopped behind the one and only Nancy from the library. She was staring at the body with large terrified eyes.  
  
“Hey, Nancy, what are you doing here?” Dean reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
Hating himself for it, Cas felt an odd sense of pride that Dean only used one hand to comfort her but had used both to comfort Cas.  
  
Nancy turned to Dean and when she recognized him she began to come back from the terror. “What?”  
  
“I asked; what are you doing here?”  
  
She swallowed. “I was called out after a dog. The same dog that I was called out to get the last few times. Why?” She was shaking.  
  
Gently, Dean guided her to a bench. “Do you know which way it went?” He sat her on the bench and watched on with calm reassurance.  
  
Pointing to the alley between the Laundromat and the strip mall, she spoke again. “I think it’s living in a rundown store front; but, I’m not supposed to trespass and entering the place would be doing so.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stared forward.  
  
“Stay calm. You’ll be alright.” Dean tapped Cas and used his head to nod in the direction of the alley. “Let’s go.”  
  
They left Nancy on the bench and waded through the crowd to the alley. It looked the same as the other day when they had found the witch there. Cas felt weird running down the alley without his trench. It billowed and pulled back on him like his wings did in Heaven; it was a little awkward and hard balancing without it. “Where are we going, Dean?”  
  
Dean had pulled his gun from his waist band and approached the corner with his back to the wall. He turned and whispered hurriedly. “Household deities take the shape of something obvious; like a dog.”  
  
Finally understanding, Cas pouted. “Last time, I said it was the animal, you told me I was crazy.”  
  
Ducking around the corner gun first, Dean responded, “At the time, you were.”  
  
They moved down the line of closed doors that were the back employee and special personnel only doors to the shop fronts. After a while, Cas was worried that they had missed the one that Nancy had been talking about. They were nearing the other end of the strip mall. Dean slowed down though; and Cas could easily read that Dean had found what he was looking for.  
  
Soon after, so had Cas, following Dean’s gaze to the broken down door. There was graffiti all around it and it had a lot more trash and cigarette butts than any of the other places.  
  
“Squatters.” Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. “There could be a bunch in there.”  
  
Scoffing, Cas stood abreast of him. “Good thing we’re looking for a dog.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “My bet is that it morphs or something.”  
  
“What makes you say that?” Cas was trying to find where Dean had come up with that idea.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean gave Cas a weary and knowing look. “Because it’s never that easy.” He began to stalk forward again. Cataloguing the door, Dean glowered at the door jamb. "You've gotta be friggin’ kidding me!" He whisper yelled in Cas’ direction.  
  
Shrugging, Cas pushed the dilapidated door inward and began to search. He wasn't sure what they were looking for; but, he was determined to find it before Dean.  
  
Following with a loud huff, Dean added in a low grumble, "I hate Nazis almost as much as witches."  
  
Hearing that, Cas turned around and pushed a hand to Dean’s chest. He walked them back outside and looked around the door. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Dean threw a hand toward a swastika sloppily graffitied on the wall, keeping the gun completely steady with the other alone. “That’s the symbol for Nazism.”  
  
Shaking his head, Cas leaned over Dean’s shoulder whisper in his ear. “Nancy was definitely right. That is a pair of crossed lightning bolts.”  
  
At that moment, Dean’s cell phone rang. Cas was going to tell him to ignore it; but, when he saw that it was Sam’s name; he knew that it would be a lost cause. Dean tapped the screen and brought the phone up to his ear. “Horrible timing, Sam.”  
  
Cas leaned in to hear Sam’s half of the conversation. He kept his eyes trained down because getting close to the phone meant leaning into Dean’s face.  
  
“So get this, that double lightning thing does have a tie to the household deities thing.” Sam paused.  
  
Dean huffed. “This is no time for dramatic effect; spit it out.”  
  
“Okay, okay, bossy. Anyway, it’s from a Norwegian take on the lore. It says that the double lightning bolts can be used to tie something to a house, like a deity. Now, it can mean anything from a god’s protection to a child being grounded.” There was a sound of pages flipping.  
  
Dean shifted and accidentally hit his nose against Cas’. Cas’ eyes got wider and he tried not to move or show any sign of change.  
  
With a gruff voice gruff, Dean replied to Sam. “How do we gank it?”  
  
“I’m getting there. The page turning stopped. It says that piercing metal works; so, I’d say a gun or an angel blade would do nicely.”  
  
Cas finally had saved up enough voice to speak. “Anything else? We have to discern it from a whole group of otherwise innocent individuals.”  
  
“Okay, actually, yeah. It’s says here that it is highly susceptible to fire powder. There’s a picture of people trading with others to get something then throwing it on the deities when they misbehave or want out of the contract.” A slight lull passed. “I have no idea what fire powder is, though, so...”  
  
Jerking his head up, Cas nodded quickly. “Cayenne Pepper. That has to be it.” Cas took the phone from Dean. “Thank you so much, Sam. We got this. Get better.” He hung up the call. Cas was riding a wave of the angel version of adrenaline. He had his tie still saturated with Cayenne Pepper in his pocket. Why? Well, it really was a stupid reason why; but, he kind of missed wearing it. It was something that he’d become accustomed to wearing and he was just sentimental enough to bring it with him.  
  
He pulled it from his pocket and showed it to Dean.  
  
Dean’s eyes lit up. “Like a shape-shifter to silver.” He grinned at the tie. “I could kiss you right now.”  
  
In the next moment, Cas’ angel adrenaline spoke before his angel brain could catch up. “Maybe you should.”  
  
Perhaps they were both on an adrenaline high because Dean pressed in closer and sealed his lips over Cas’. It wasn’t what Cas thought a kiss with Dean would be like. It was almost chaste. It was forceful with pressure; but, his lips stayed closed and his jaw stayed level. Anytime that Cas had seen Dean kiss someone, it had been sensual. This was not. It was an adrenaline kiss. And Cas’ adrenaline had contributed to some of the force of it.  
  
The extent of Cas’ role in the kiss wasn’t realized until Dean pulled away and Cas, in his force, followed him for a second before catching on.  
  
In the second following that kiss, Cas’ thoughts were a whirlwind. He wanted to know how much of that was adrenaline and how much wasn’t. He wanted to know whether Dean would ever want to participate in a repeat demonstration. He wanted to know if the taste on his mouth was what Dean’s mouth usually tasted like or if it changed. He wanted to know what kinds of things he could get away with if he was kissing Dean. Most importantly, though, he wanted to know the true cause behind Dean’s blush.  
  
“We will revisit this.” Cas spoke quickly before he lost his courage. He recommenced his entrance.  
  
Behind him, Dean followed. “Or not.”  
  
They made their way through the store. It looked like an old restaurant; there was a kitchen in the back; a banquet hall; then half walls that divided up sections of booths and upended tables. People were everywhere; but, luckily for them, most were asleep.  
  
With great distress, Cas tore the tie in half lengthwise and gave one of the pieces to Dean. They didn’t have to say anything to agree that Dean would start on the far side of the room and work his way back toward Cas.  
  
Cas had trouble finding patches of skin on some of the people. He also had trouble keeping his emotions under control. He didn’t like to see people suffering like this, especially not like this. It struck too close to home. He was kicked out of heaven; he was made the guardian to two forever homeless boys. There were other reasons too; but, if he wanted to keep focused, he’d have to steer clear of them.  
  
Sudden movement from across the room indicated that Dean had found the household deity. There was a low screech of pain then furious movement. The man ran toward the door.  
  
“Get him.” Dean yelled.


	11. First Things

He had kissed Cas, on the mouth. Tap tie to sleeping man’s wrist.  
  
He had kissed Cas, on the mouth. Tap tie to woman’s cheek.  
  
He had kissed Cas, on the mouth. Tap tie to little girl’s foot.  
  
He had kissed Cas, on the mouth. Tap tie to man’s leg.  
  
With a screech of pain, the man stood and made a break for it. Dean called to Cas, “Get him.”  
  
Cas floomped out of the storefront, presumably, to the back exit.  
  
Taking off at his top speed, Dean tried to keep up with the two beings. He was comforted with the fact that he had the fasted weapon. Not that it was a contest.  
  
Dean emerged from the dilapidated door. He was at full throttle aiming his gun as he ran. It wasn’t long before the strip mall was running out and the man was getting close to the alley. Cas flew to the alley way; blocking it as a possible escape route.  
  
The man, having seen Cas’ appearance there, swerved away to the back of the Laundromat.  
  
Running out of room and breath, the man turned and began to try to reason with him, “I’m sorry; I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to run. It wasn’t me.”  
  
Closing in, Dean and Cas each had a skeptical look on their faces. “Then who did?” Dean cocked the gun.  
  
“My wife. My wife was ordered to do it.” The man was almost sobbing.  
  
Cas took a menacing step forward and narrowed his eyes. “How do we know you’re not lying?”  
  
Using a shaking hand, the man pointed to another, more prettily painted swastika on the back of the Laundromat. “My wife is bound to that symbol and that building.” He cowered back down and fell to his knees. “Please, please, I’m begging you.” His shoulders shook. “The whole family of them here are witches. They’ve been using my kind for centuries.”  
  
“Explain.” Cas commanded with all the wrath of God promised if he was lied to.  
  
The man began to explain. He explained how their families had been brought overseas with their owners. He explained how his wife was caught and chained into the bathroom inside the Laundromat while the older witch put up the seal.  
  
It had been okay at first; he had been able to go in and see her. He had been able to talk to her, wish her well. It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. Then a few months back, when the housing development went in, a bunch of the bigots started to come into the Laundromat. They didn’t have any way of doing laundry. If there was one thing that these witches were bigoted against, it was bigots.  
  
The people from the housing development were equal parts snobby and sloppy. They were rich and sheltered; they’d had nannies and housekeepers. They trashed the Laundromat. “It was then that my wife, Melinda, began to be overworked. They kept her up all night cleaning. They’d have her scrub until almost indelible stains were gone.”  
  
He realized that he needed to get her out. So he tried. He tried so many things. First, he tried breaking in. Then he tried to recreate the spell at their place of living, the squat. He couldn’t out power the witches though.  
  
“Not long after that; one of the men came in while they had my wife out of her prison. He was really nasty to one of the witches. The elder witch’s spell had been that my wife had to deal with anything that was dirty or revolting which is exactly what the younger witch used to describe the man.  
  
Then it was out, the secret, how to truly use us for bad. It was one of the reasons that there were witch hunts in the first place. We became a weapon to witches and these ones figured it out all over again.”  
  
The man sagged and began to cry. “I just want my wife back.”  
  
Cas lifted a hand to Dean’s gun and silently asked Dean to lower it. Dean wasn’t so sure. He still didn’t believe that it was the whole truth. It couldn’t be. It was so long and complicated and it was like learning a history lesson. Besides, how did the guy know all of this.  
  
The man looked up with scared eyes. “The young one’s been trying to help. She’s nice, really. She’s been taking care of Melinda. Taking messages back and forth. She hadn’t been allowed with someone she loved because of the Witch Order; and, she feels bad for us.”  
  
Hearing that, Cas hardened his eyes. He briefly put some pressure on the gun. Dean listened that time and lowered the gun.  
  
When he turned back to the man, Cas smiled, “What can we do to help?”  
  
\---  
  
Dean was happy to be back in his clothes, not some prissy khakis or weird colored oxfords. There was a time and a place for those sorts of things and Dean never dwelled there. He, Cas, and Rudy – short for Rudyard, who knew – were tucked into the Impala outside of the Laundromat. They were waiting.  
  
When they had been planning, Rudy had explained that they let his wife out at the tail end of the business hours then put her back away and went home around eleven-thirty. In that short amount of time, she became a whirlwind, “quite literally” he had said. She worked faster than humanly possible to fulfill the wishes of the spell.  
  
This was slavery and Dean was NOT down for slavery. He was going to gank this bitch, er - witch. At this point, he wasn’t sure if he’d have rather been dealing with Nazis.  
  
The plump-lipped woman that he and Cas had cornered in the alley earlier came from one of the back rooms. She swung her hips while she walked over to the chained up bathroom door.  
  
Dean leaned over to whisper directly to Cas’ ear. “Cas, I thought you said she was clean?”  
  
“She was.”  
  
They watched as the woman looked in both directions before unlocking the door.  
  
Dean turned to Cas. “You ready?”  
  
Nodding, Cas flew away, presumably to the back of the Laundromat to break the spell. Cas had assured Dean that he could do it and Dean trusted him.  
  
The lights in the Laundromat flickered and Dean took that at the sign that the spell had been broken. He jumped out of the car, gun in his hand and ran toward the door. For some idiotic reason, the witch hadn’t locked it.  
  
She hadn’t noticed that anything was out of the ordinary yet. She opened the door and winced; but, nothing happened. She looked into the room.  
  
Dean opened the front door, gun loaded, cocked, and aimed. “We’ll be taking her with us.”  
  
Coming through the back, Cas looked awesome in all his trench coat glory. He was missing the tie but Dean could deal; besides, there was more of Cas’ neck visible that way.  
  
The red-lipped witch sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God.” She turned into the bathroom. “Come on. Go. Go. These are the guys that I told you about. I told you they’d break the spell.”  
  
A short Asian-American woman emerged from the bathroom. She looked skittish until she saw Rudy and ran into his arms. She kissed him, chaste and hard. Dean tried not to think of a certain other chaste but hard kiss.  
  
Looking around, the red-lipped witch said frantically, “Go now.”  
  
Dean was not about to argue with that. He hated witches; but this was a clan and he could not take this down on his own. He’d have to come back another time with Sam and an army of hunters, otherwise it wasn’t going to happen.  
  
Motioning for Cas to follow, Dean rushed Rudy and his wife to the Impala and drove away.  
  
\---  
  
Rudy and Melinda voted against staying in town. They asked very politely to be taken to a bus station. Dean handed over the ‘company’ card and paid for them to get a one-way trip to nowhere. “You guys be careful, now. I’ve hunted a lot of witches in my time; they are not all that friendly.”  
  
Holding his wife, Rudy nodded. “No offense; but, why aren’t you killing us anyway; we’re still monsters?”  
  
Luckily, Dean didn’t need to speak; Cas filled in for him. “Everyone needs second chances. It’s something we learned the long way.” Cas offered a slight smile.  
  
To say that there was more to that would be lying; because there wasn’t. There was a lot of companionable silence then a wave when they got on the next bus. That was it.  
  
\---  
  
Dean had settled against one side of the elevator and Cas had settled against the other. They were tired. Dean didn’t like running; hence why he still thought that Sam was crazy for doing it as exercise. It made his legs feel like jelly.  
  
Sighing, Cas rolled his shoulders back as swallowed, a look of determination set on his face. “I think I’m ready to go to bed.”  
  
Scoffing slightly, Dean couldn’t agree more. “Yeah, I hear you.” The elevator dinged at the fourth floor and they exited quickly.  
  
Dean led the way even though Cas was still carrying the only key.  
  
From behind him, Cas said an impossible phrase. “Then, I guess you’ll have to kiss me good night.”  
  
Stopping short of the door, Dean’s eyes widened. Cas continued past him, his trench flowing behind him like a cape. He turned and looked at Dean, his expression neutral. A moment later, he quirked one of his eyebrows in the slightest motion, a hint that he wasn’t as neutral as he seemed.  
  
In that moment, all of Dean’s exhaustion flowed away and he was on Cas, on Cas like he’d always wanted to be on Cas. He reached out for Cas’ angular jaw and pulled it toward his face and pressed their lips together.  
  
  
  
Wasting no time, Cas grabbed Dean’s belt loops and pulled him closer. They twirled and twisted and groped. It was like some dream that Dean had always tried to see to completion was finally happening, like he was sleeping in for the first time in forever.  
  
There was stubble and grace and awkwardness. Cas’ nose kept bumping his and suddenly there was a door behind him. “This isn’t some one-off thing. This is a forever thing, right?” Dean didn’t want to open his eyes; if it was a dream, he wanted to stay asleep until it came to completion.  
  
And yes, he meant completion in the sense of ejaculation. He wanted that. With Cas. Now.  
  
“Not some one-time thing.” Cas whispered into Dean’s ear.  
  
Using the door as leverage, Dean hiked his legs up and around Cas’ waist. He moaned his reply. “Then get me to the bed.”  
  
When Cas put the key in the lock that time, he turned it the right way first.


	12. Epilogue: Report

Dean smirked when he folded the printed paper into a paper airplane and flew it at Sam.  
  
_Dead Things and Washing Mashines_  
  
_Report Number: Don’t Care_  
  
_Sick Things. Shiny Things. Closed Things. Dead Things. High Things. High-Key Things. Magic Things. Boring Things. Research Things. Nazi Things? (They weren’t actually Nazi things.) And First Things._  
  
_Oh, and Cas and I totally banged at the end._  
  
Laughing, Dean turned and retreated to his room where Cas was waiting for him. He had no doubt that Cas would write up an actual report for Sam, but it was more fun to piss Sam off first.  
  
“Dean!”  
  
Hurrying, Dean slipped into his room and locked the door. He and Cas had some catching up to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm, tell me what you think?
> 
> I'm SUPER nervous about this fic, guys.
> 
> THE LOVELY ARTIST: [gabrielseductivetrickster.tumblr.com](http://gabrielseductivetrickster.tumblr.com/)
> 
> me: [cockleddean.tumblr.com](cockleddean.tumblr.com)


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